


As The Rain (Comes Crashing Down)

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Karasuno Volleyball Club, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He should have took Yamaguchi’s offer to spend the night."What do you mean?"Tsukishima tries not to glare, to keep his expression steady."The rain?" he tries to clarify. "It's the worst day possible for us to be training outside. At this rate, we'll get sick.""What are you going on about?" Nishinoya asks again. "It's not raining at all."Oh,Tsukishima thinks, dumbfounded.This is what it must be like when the whole word is against you.Rewrite.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 95
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Drizzle

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to stay the night?" Yamaguchi asks. He watches Tsukishima slip on his white tennis shoes, then gestures out the window. "It's raining pretty bad out there, y'know."

Tsukishima nods. "I have to finish packing for the trip, remember? I'm don't want to be packing at the last minute."

"But the trip isn't for another two days!"

Tsukishima huffs, which is his closest thing to a smile sometimes. "I know. I just want to get a head start."

It wasn't like this was their first trip with the volleyball club. If anything, they should be used to this by now, and it shouldn't be that hard to pack a few days worth of outfits. If Yamaguchi could pack his bag in half an hour, then Tsukishima should be able to pack just as fast.

Then the realization hits him.

" _Ohh,_ I get it," he mutters, a sly smile crossing his lips, and the blond looks at him questioning. "You just can't wait until we spend three days with the Nekoma team, huh? Are you too impatient or something? Packing right now isn't going to make the time fly by any faster."

A blush slowly rises on Tsukishima's face much to Yamaguchi's delight; it's a rare sight, privy to just the two of them (and now Kuroo, too). As far as Yamaguchi can tell, he's the only one who knows about what happened during last training expedition, specifically between Tsukishima and the other team's captain.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"Shut up, Yamaguchi," the blond mutters.

"Sorry, Tsukki," he teases, far too pleased with himself. Tsukishima turns his head so that his face is hidden, but they both know there's no point in hiding. "Oh, hey! Before I forget," he cries out, reaching for the coat rack, "take this umbrella with you. It's raining pretty hard, and we both know it's gonna be a pain if you're sick during the trip." He grabs the black umbrella, hidden behind the numerous jackets, and hands it to the taller boy.

The corner of Tsukishima's mouth twitches up, and Yamaguchi doesn't point it out.

"Thanks," the blond mutters as he takes the umbrella. "I'll text you when I get home."

"Good," Yamaguchi says. "See you tomorrow then!"

"Bye," Tsukishima replies. The front door opens and closes, and then Yamaguchi is left all alone. He lingers for a few moments, peering out the window to make sure his friend is using the umbrella, then turns and heads to his room.

* * *

_It's not raining that hard,_ Tsukishima sourly notes as he walks down the street. It was more a light drizzle that gently pattered against the borrowed umbrella, barely enough for Yamaguchi to say, "It's raining pretty hard." If Tsukishima had realized it would be this calm the whole walk home, he wouldn't have accepted the umbrella in the first place. Getting a little wet wasn't such a huge deal.

_But,_ he thinks to himself, _the weather doesn't look all that bad._

He's walked this same path home for so many years, but the rain changes it. The street lamps, shining above him, reflect in the puddles on the street. It's just water, just light shimmering on its surface, but it brings just a little bit more beauty to this desolate neighbourhood.

He sigh escapes him as his thoughts drift back to Yamaguchi's place. He's known for his cool composure, his self-control, and yet he blushed like a virgin when the Nekoma team captain was brought up. Part of him hates himself, because what occurred between them didn't seem like anything more than an innocent kiss, curiosity biting at the two of them, and yet the other half is relieved. It feels human, it feels _normal,_ that for a moment, he forgets what it's like to be the odd one out.

It was that part of him that led him to giving Kuroo his phone number. Tsukishima groans as the memory surfaces, disbelief appearing because what the _hell_ compelled him into giving that guy his number?

His phone buzzes, and he laughs wryly. _Speak of the devil_ , he thinks to himself.

He goes to check his phone, and low and behold, it's exactly who he thought it was.

_Tsukki, can't wait 2 see u :))_

The grammar is absolutely horrendous, lazily composed as to get the message across as quickly as possible. And yet Tsukishima feels his face growing hot, more focused on the happiness and excitement that seems to radiate from the text. Despite himself, a smile stretches across his lips as he fingers dance across the keyboard, typing back a response.

_We still have two days, Kuroo-san._

_  
I know, just wanted 2 tell u I can't wait 2 see u :)_

He should be happy, but his smile falters, just a bit. For a moment there, Tsukishima indulges in the thought that maybe, just maybe, Kuroo is actually eager to see him. But that thought is overwhelmed by the question of _why_ is Kuroo eager to see him. Why is the other boy even talking to him? It's weird enough that they still talk, considering they've only met in person a few times and they're so far apart.

So why?

He has no time to entertain his mind for an answer, because all of a sudden, he's lying on the ground, umbrella and bag spilling in front of him, pain erupting from the back of his head.

It's the shock that keeps him where he is, unable to move. His face is pressed against the floor, and he blinks, but his vision still swirls with black spots and water and he has to fight to keep it clear enough. The rain is still light, but he must've fallen into a puddle or something because he feels like his clothes are soaked through. Distantly, in a place in his mind that is disconnected from all of this, he realizes that his uniform is indeed ruined and that there's no way he can wear it tomorrow.

He thinks he sees someone standing a few feet in front of him, and only then does he find the strength to attempt to stand. But it feels like something is banging against his skull; all his thoughts are messy and all he can register is _ouch ouch that fucking hurt,_ barely a coherent thought in itself. His attempt to pull himself to his feet fails, so he simply lays on his side and curls in on himself, hands cradling his head, as if doing so will magically fix him up.

He thinks he has a concussion, but he's not so sure. If he doesn't die in the next 24-hours, then it's probably a minor one. Maybe he should text Kuroo and ask him what to do.

"Huh, would you look at this."

Someone's voice — a male, he idly notes — rings out, but he can't tell if it's the person in front of him because the words feel like they're coming from a mile away.

"Hey, you'll never guess what I just caught." The same voice, talking to someone else. Tsukishima's vision is slowly clearing up.

"Drag him further in." Another voice, a different one, more rough around the edges and mean, like a predator, hiding in the shadows and waiting for that perfect moment to strike. It comes from somewhere behind him, and Tsukishima realizes that he was the prey this time.

It's still raining, still night time, and just as his thoughts were becoming more coherent, he feels two strong arms take hold him, both on his right arm, and yanking him to his feet. Maybe these are murders, and he's going to die tonight, and tomorrow, some stranger is going to walk by and find his mangled body later. The stupid part of himself doesn't mind, thinks that maybe this is the world's way of getting back at him for being such an asshole. But he's never been one to let others decide what to do for him.

With a single moment of clarity, accompanied by misplaced annoyance, he swings his free arm, and slams his fist into the guy's face.

His head drums with pain afterwards, as though that single action was already too much, but Tsukishima knew he had to do more. The guy stumbles back, shocked, but his grip doesn't loosen as much as Tsukishima had wanted it to. He kicks out, clawing at the guy's hands that are still wrapped around his skinny arms, but it seemed no matter what he did, the man's grip only grew tighter and tighter. Another desperate punch, and the man's grip tightens to the point that it felt like he would snap his arm in half. The pain is real, causing Tsukishima to tear up slightly, but he bit his tongue, endured, because he had to.

The man laughs, calls Tsukishima a fighter, dragging him forward with what seemed like little effort. He was always light — skinny — and it's moments like these that he regrets not bulking up a bit.

"Let go of me," Tsukishima growls, low and threatening as he digs his heels into the ground to stop himself from moving forward, but the man merely grins. He opens his mouth again, and the words are at the tip of his tongue, prepared to call for help because he has his pride but he's losing the fight at the moment.

Then then world spins, and he's hitting the floor again. The words get stuck in his throat, and the headache or concussion is pounding at his head again, demanding his attention. He lands in another puddle, and yeah, he definitely cannot wear this jacket tomorrow. Yamaguchi's gonna have the time of his life trying to guess why.

Tsukishima is flipped onto his back, face-to-face with the man who's yelling at him to _be quiet, don't say another word._ The man shoves as rag into his mouth, and Tsukishima gags and punches him, shoving at the arm holding his face still, trying to pull the rag out himself. But he's weak, always weak for some reason, and the man grabs him by the hair and slams his head back against the ground. Tsukishima wonders if this is what it's like to die, suffocating as the his head sends pain ringing throughout his body, and he can't find it in himself to move as the rag is finally shoved into his mouth.

The man hisses an insult, something childish and old, but Tsukishima can't seem to register the words. There's the sound of tape tearing, and then it's placed over his lips, wrapping around his head to make sure it stays, and now he can't breath properly with the rag stuck in his mouth, can't scream. It's still raining, but the tape is still effective. It's still raining. Gone is the beauty that he was admiring not so long ago, now the rain serves to be nothing more than water pouring, just another thing to distract him.

He's tossed onto his stomach, arms forcefully pulled behind him, and he's filled with renewed energy despite the headache and he struggles, kicks, tries to drag himself forward. He can't scream. His chances of fighting back are decreasing by the second. His last resort are his legs, so he needs to find the chance to get up and run away.

There's two men, he realizes. Two against one. He can hear them bickering behind him, and he thinks he hears their names but he's not too sure right now. One calls him cute, and the offhanded compliment causes gut to clench in disgust. He tilts his head to the left slightly and he can _see_ them. He tries to commit their appearance to memory — their face, clothes, their height, but they seem so tall when they're looming over him like that and he can't really focus with the disgust slowly filling him, overpowering his senses.

One man — _Shido,_ was it? — tells him to calm down, to listen and do as they say. Tsukishima feels the anger rising, and they just laugh. He tells the other man — _Ichi_ , that's the name he heard — to keep steady and to look one final time to see if anyone is nearby.

Tsukishima knows what's happening. So when they flip him onto his back once more, he brings his knee up, surprising all three of them when he lands the blow. It strikes the first man right in his chin, knocking him back onto his ass as pain graces his expression.

And Tsukishima moves. He turns his body to the side, places his chin against the gravel as he tries to find leverage to get to his feet. Maybe he should've expected it, should've added the second man into the equation, but the foot that slams into his stomach is still a surprise. He swallows the scream before it escapes.

There are curses and insults and slurs flying in his directions, more kicks for each one, and Tsukishima curls in one himself, bringing his legs up to his stomach, trying to stop at least a few of the blows. But it's no use, they just keep raining down on him, and he wants to vomit. 

Tsukishima just stops moving, and waits for the rain to stop.

* * *


	2. Downpour

* * *

Kuroo blearily opens his eyes, searching for the sound that woke him.

It takes a split second for him to register that the sound he heard was his phone. He lazily reaches for it, knocking his hand against his dresser a few times before he finally finds it. A quick peek tells him that it's Tsukishima who texted him, and the sleepiness he was feeling quickly dissipates. He rolls onto his back, hurriedly turning on his phone, relieved that the younger boy finally decided to respond after making him wait. Granted, it was at most half an hour, but Kuroo was tired enough that he fell asleep while waiting.

He opens his messages, and frowns.

It's a photo of what appears to be a slender, pale chin with silver tape across that person's mouth. Kuroo scrolls up his screen, but isn't much else, no other text to accompany the image. It was Tsukishima's contact that sent him the photo, he's sure of that, but he's stuck wondering why the younger boy would send something like that. His phone buzz again, a new message coming in, and Kuroo scrolls back down to see what it is.

He felt the moment the dread filled his stomach.

Another photo; this time it was of Tsukishima, but he was pressed onto the ground on his back, hands stuck underneath his back. His pants and undergarments were pulled down, tangled around his knees, leaving him exposed for the camera. It looked like it was raining, and there was tape over his mouth, and it's then that Kuroo realizes it was Tsukishima in the previous photo, too. 

Kuroo feels his face heating up, blood rushing down because anyone would be aroused at a sight like that. But the shame and anger is stronger, shame at himself for reacting like that, anger at the thought that Tsukishima could be in trouble. His blood is boiling now, no longer aroused as he chucks his phone away and stands up. He's pacing around the room now, too many thoughts flying through his head, filled with the need to _do_ something. Because it seemed pretty clear that Tsukishima was in danger, or at least it seemed that way.

He could ask Kenma to hack Tsukishima's phone or something, so Kuroo could find him. But then there would be a lot questions asked, questions that Kuroo didn't have time to answer, and they're too far away from Sendai, too.

His eyes found the small digital clock on his nightstand, and he inwardly cursed. It was late, so the trains and buses wouldn't be running. He didn't have a car, and it wasn't like he could run all the way to Sendai.

His hands curl into fists, his frustration growing more and more evident, and he resists the urge the punch through his wall. 

His phone buzzes, and his arms loosen, but the tension still remains in his shoulders. He scrambles over to his bed, snatching up his phone.

_I hope you like the pictures. They're for you._

It . . . _sounds_ like Tsukishima, Kuroo reluctantly admits, albeit confused. But how can that be, when he was bound and gagged in those very same photos? It's a battle in his mind between whether Tsukishima was just playing him, sending these photos as a fucked-up prank, or if whoever was hurting him was sending these photos. Tsukishima isn't that type of person though. The blond liked to antagonize and rile people up, but never anything too far.

Another buzz, another photo but with a caption this time. It was Tsukishima again, but this time he was looking towards the camera, a small smile playing on his lips, his hazel eyes — normally clear and bored, maintaining that level of coolness — are glassy and dead. The tape is hanging off one side of his face. He no longer looks like he's in pain, but Kuroo can see that he's soaking wet from the way his blond hair sticks to his thin face, from the water that clings to his pale skin. Kuroo glances back over to the caption.

_I'll see you soon. Bye ;)_

Kuroo doesn't sleep that whole night, consumed with confusion and questions that no one has the answer to at the moment, with fear that pulses through him and leaves him aching.

* * *

_He keeps coming back to the same thought; why didn't he stay with Yamaguchi?_

_If he had just stayed that night, if he had gone home a little earlier, if he had taken a different path, paid a little more attention to his surroundings, walked a little faster, fought a little more._

_If, if, if._

_It's the what-ifs that keeps him distracted, keeps him going, even as the men make quick work of his pants and undergarments and shirt, even as they run their hands all over him, roaming the expanse of his skin and touching him in the_ _places he's saved for someone else. He feels no pleasure, nothing, just the pain and regrets as he mulls over his 'what-ifs' that weigh heavy against his chest._

* * *

It's not a loud noise, the rev of a car as it prepares for the day, the sound of people beginning to rise that wakes Tsukishima up. It's the silence. It's disconcerting, leaves him waiting for something that isn't coming; a scream, a trashcan falling over, the deafening sound of sirens approaching.

Instead, Tsukishima wakes up, and the world is quiet.

He rubs at his eyes, scratching away at crusty substance that covers quite a bit of his face. He claws at it, nails digging in, until he can open his eyes and can't feel it on his face anymore. He sits up, stifling the groan that makes its way up his throat. His hands are free, surprisingly, and he shakes off the loosened-rope until it pools behind him and he can lift his hands in front of himself.

He blinks, numbly, and stares at the brick wall in front of him. He's in an alleyway, the one that's near the crepe shop Yamaguchi sometimes drags him off to after school. After walking the same path for so many years, while he doesn't remember faces or names that well, he knows the streets like the back of his hand.

It's still dark. There's a light-post at the end of the alleyway, still glowing its orange-yellow light.

His head is pounding, his body feels stiff, his joins hurt as he tries to push himself to his feet. He's cold, and he distantly realizes that he's missing his pants and underwear, as well as his glasses.

He feels numb. That's what he tells himself. And yet his vision blurs and something wet is rolling down his face. The tears are flowing and they are not stopping, no matter how persistently he wipes them away.

He feels nothing and everything at once.

He's silent, tears still making their way down his face as he stumbles to the entrance of the alley and picks up his pants. They're soaked, they're disgusting, and yet he can't wait to put them on. Through blurry eyes, vision impaired without his glasses and already muddled from his tears, he slowly slips on his wet articles of clothing and then looks to the sky. The darkness of the night was giving way to a sunset filled with rays of pink and orange, of which would soon faded to a bright baby-blue dotted with white.

To the world, the sky is clear. But to Tsukishima, it's still raining.

The streets are empty all the way to his house. There, it's quiet, too; everyone is still asleep. He staggers through the halls, silent as he can be, until he arrives at the bath room across from his own room. He grabs another outfit and rushes to the bathroom. The door shuts with a click that's loud, even though it's something too simple, and he wonders how he's going to make it through a shower.

He searches for a light, flicks it on, and he tries not to let the regret consume him.

He's met with his reflection, and he's not sure if he's alive or not; his eyes are dead and sunken, and accompanied by his already lanky appearance and thin nature, he looks like a skeleton. He brings a hand up to his face, grazing over the red, swelling bruise that's on his cheek, trying to remember when he got it, if he was awake or not when it happened. The crusty substance from a while ago is still on his face, mixing in with his hair line, and he wants to vomit. He wants it off.

He lifts his shirt over his head, and it doesn't get better. He looks back in the mirror, and his torso is littered with bruises, still fresh and red but soon to turn purple and blue. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, tries to gather in enough air as he traces over each mark.

He unzips his still-soaking pants. His lower back burns with hot pain as he bends down. He tries not to focus on the angry handprints that were imprinted into his thighs and, less visibly, on his hips.

He rushes into the shower to try and scrub himself clean, to rid himself of any evidence of what happened. He rubs himself using a cloth with renewed vigour, digging so hard into his skin that it leaves behind a raw red and a fading burn. He welcomes it; it hurt all the same, it didn't change the ugly feeling in his chest, but at least he was ridding his skin of their filth. He was too afraid that it would be too loud, but now it's not loud _enough,_ and his thoughts are all going back to the same thing no matter how hard he tries. Bits and pieces, flashes of things that happened a while ago but felt like he was going through it all over again.

_Aren't you going to thank us?_

_No, never, not in a million years,_ he wants to say, but he can't, too lost in the terror and the pain and the hurting.

His legs give out from underneath him, knees clanging harshly against the shower floor, but he barely registers it. He clenches his teeth, holding in a scream as he digs his nails into his arm, leaving behind angry crescent-shaped marks. Red mixes with tears and water and flows into the drain.

The hot water rains down on him.

It's no longer drizzling; it's a thunderstorm.

* * *

He can't bring himself to open the door, even to his mother's voice that's ~~pleading begging~~ asking for him to come out. He stays curled under his blankets, even when it starts getting harder to breathe, trying his hardest to block out the sun that floored his room in a warm light, even with the curtains closed.

He's heard stories, random things on the internet and in health class about assault cases, and they were always so terrible and gut wrenching, but it was fine, because it would never happen to him. With his lanky body and his height, he was the last person who would get attacked. And yet he could still feel their hands, tearing him apart touch by touch. He could remember the realization of what was about to happen, the pain of when it happened, and the lingering pain now that it was over. Now, he has to live with their faces burned into the back of his eyelids, so that every time he wants to close them and sleep, they would be there with those sickening smiles that made him feel nauseous every time.

He's angry. At the world, and those men. At himself. It's illogical, and yet he can't help but be frustrated.

_If, if, if._

He berates himself for being weak. Not only for being unable to fight back, but for right now. Right now, when he's still scared and shaking all over. 

_It sucked,_ he tells himself, _but it's over._ It's all over, so he should just forget it and move on with his life, should stop feeling so afraid and so bad, because there's no reason to anymore. They got what they wanted.

Unless they decided to come back and find him.

He chokes at that thought, and his head spins with so many emotions he can only pinpoint one; fear. Maybe, if he just ~~disappeared~~ ran away, then he wouldn't have to —

There's a knock at his door.

"Kei, honey?" It's his mother again. Still soft, no longer pleading like before. "There's a friend here to you see you."

His eyes widen at her words. He can only imagine that it's Yamaguchi, because really, since when has anyone else come to visit him? But he prays in his head, over and over again, hoping that it's someone _else,_ because Yamaguchi knows him better than anyone else and he can't handle that right now.

Whoever it was, what would he even say to them? He lost his phone somewhere in the alley and he didn't think of going back to get it. He _can't_ get it. That alleyway is nothing but inferno to him now, and he refuses to go back, to even step a foot near it.

Fear.

That's all he is now. He is the embodiment of fear, consumed by it, distressed by danger and pain where there is none. Afraid of something that should be there but isn't, it's not real anymore, he's just imagining it.

That's all he is now; fear, along with exhaustion.

His eyes drooped shut, the terror of sleeping threatening to pull him under, but then the bedroom door opens, hinges squeaking, and his eyes snap back open. God, did his mother find the key to his room or something? Or did he forget to lock it and she never tried the knob until now? He pulls the blanket tighter over his head, forsaking oxygen in exchange for safety, as though doing so would make the person disappear. He doesn't want to see anyone, not right now. He hasn't figured out how he's supposed to act around them. The first that comes to mind is _normal,_ _just act normal,_ but normal suddenly seems so far away. So unnatural. 

He debates on telling them what happened, thinks that maybe if he does, they'll catch those men and they'll go to jail and he'd be free. But the shame washes over him, because here he is, Tsukishima Kei, hurt. After all he's done, people would say it's karma. It's only fitting after insulting and hurting others, the same would happen to him. Maybe the team would think the same, too.

"Tsukishima?" the person calls out. He knows that voice. "I got a call from Kuroo-san. He wanted me to come check on you."

The door closes with a soft _click_ , followed by a pair of light footsteps that ceased when they reaches his bed.

"I also found this on my way here." The sound of someone rummaging through their pockets. "It was in an alleyway. I recognized it from the cover."

Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying goes, but he peeks out from under the blanket anyways. There, Daichi Sawamura stands at the side of his bed, his signature gentle smile plastered on his face.

It does little to make Tsukishima feel better. His gaze travels down to the older man's hand, outstretched towards him, holding out Tsukishima's silver cell phone. The device is covered with with, and the small screen on the front is broken and smeared with dirt, a failed attempt to clean it up. Tsukishima glances down at Daichi's shirt and eyes the brown stain on corner of it.

He hesitates, but with Daichi holding out the phone expectantly, he really has no choice. He reaches out a shaky hand towards the phone, tries to still the way it quivers. Too focused on something else, he misses the way Daichi's eyes widen, before he drops to his knees and takes hold of Tsukishima's wrist.

And Tsukishima almost clocks him for it, because for a moment he doesn't see Daichi, he sees someone else grabbing his arm, throwing him down, twisting his arm until it feel like it's going to snap. His throat goes dry and his mind blanks.

"Tsukishima, what happened?"

But it's not some foreign voice. It's Daichi, and Daichi is someone who is caring, and patient, and understanding, and always puts his team before himself. He's someone Tsukishima can trust. Hopefully. 

Hopefully.

The vision fades, and now it's just Daichi. There's no alleyway, no rain pouring down on him, reminding him of everything he's done wrong.

Daichi gently twists his wrist around, but pain still shoots through Tsukishima's arm, and the cellphone slips from his grip, landing on the floor with a dull clack. He tries to pull his hand away from the older boy, but the other was not giving up. Tsukishima follows his gaze to the red bruise — slowly gaining a blue hue — that wraps around his wrist, and winces as Daichi rubs his thumb across it. Tsukishima doesn't stop him.

"Can you tell me what happened?" the older boy asked, eyes soft with concern, and Tsukishima can't bear to look. "You can trust me."

The room is silent.

Tsukishima decides that he's not going to say anything. He _can't_ say anything. The words are trapped in his throat, tears threatening to gather in his eyes, because it was stupid of him to even _think_ that he could talk to someone else about it. He couldn't burden someone like Daichi with his problems, or anyone else for that matter. Like everything else, the only thing that awaits him in the end is disappointment.

"Can you tell me who it is?" Daichi goes on, trying to coax something out of Tsukishima. "Is it . . . did someone you know do this?"

Tsukishima just shrugs, an attempt at feigning his usual indifference.

"Was it your mother?"

"No," Tsukishima immediately says, because he won't ever allow anyone to accuse his mother of something like that, and he winces at the raspy tone to his voice, at the dryness in his throat. "Have you even see my mom, or you need some glasses?"

Daichi looks relieved that he's still antagonizing others that he doesn't chastised him for speaking to a senpai like that. Then Tsukishima forcefully rips his hand from the older boy's grip and the moment is gone.

"Then who was it?" Daichi asks.

Tsukishima ignores him in favour of reaching for his blanket to cover himself up. He doesn't see the way Daichi's gaze jumps up to his face, to the bruise on his cheek that was just at the beginning stages of turning blue.

"Why won't you tell me? Tsukishima, please talk to me."

* * *

_Daichi is scared._

_He's not sure he even wants to hear what happened, but he needs to. It's always his team first, and outside of the gym, that rule doesn't change. Even if it's unpleasant for him, it doesn't matter. This isn't about him._

_He needs to know what he can to help his_ _teammate — to help his_ friend.

* * *

"Oh, that's nothing," Tsukishima says, unthinkingly, and he's surprised by how quickly the words come to him. "It was raining yesterday, so on the way back home I slipped and fell." The lie easily tumbles out, carrying such conviction and his usual coolness that it almost convinces himself.

"Oh, yeah, it was pouring pretty badly yesterday," Daichi mutters, but he still looks worried. "That's what happened?"

Tsukishima forces out a huff, because a fake smile wouldn't be as convincing. "Yeah, that's all. I didn't wanna say anything, because we all know how you get."

"What do you mean, _we?"_

It feels almost . . . normal.

"Hey, I still need to pack for tomorrow," Tsukishima says, and he ruins it. "I came back late last night, so I didn't have time then. Do you mind?" It's a clear invitation to go, so blunt that Daichi doesn't even look that surprised. But he does look sad.

"Yeah, sure," the older boy says after a moment. He stands with a sigh, and the way he looks at Tsukishima makes him feel like he knows, but that's impossible, because it just can't be.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Tsukishima tries once again, pointedly glancing towards his bedroom door.

Daichi gets the message and nods. "Get some rest, okay? If it starts swelling, put some ice on it. Do you have any antibiotics you could use?"

"I get it," Tsukishima says blankly, and Daichi just frowns even more. "I have it under control. I'll see you tomorrow," he repeats.

The older boy sighs, glancing at him with a sort of resigned exhaustion, before turning to go. He pauses at the door.

"Tsukishima?"

Said person makes a noise, confirming he heard him.

"We're a team," Daichi continues, still facing the door. "We're your _friends,_ Tsukishima. You can talk to us about anything, and we'll be here to support you, no matter what. We can't help you if you don't tell us what happened."

One more worried glance back, and he sees Tsukishima staring blanking at his blanket, the fabric clenched tightly in his hands. He doesn't say anything, and this time Daichi finally leaves the room. The footsteps fade, and Tsukishima is alone again.

Tsukishima comes to the conclusion that he isn't going to say anything. He doesn't like that look on Daichi's face — the subtle pain and frustration at Tsukishima's refusal to speak, the worry as different scenarios run through his head, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation to the bruises that is as painless as possible. And if Tsukishima tells the others, if they get that same sorrowful expression . . .

The only way to avoid that is by keeping his mouth shut, forgetting what happened, and going back to how it was before. 

He shouldn't have hoped so much, hoped that maybe if he spoke, something would change. Because now he's even more disappointed, more hurt than before.

* * *

"Kei?"

His mother's voice.

"I'm coming in, okay?"

Tsukishima opens his eyes, not fully registering what was happening, by but then his mother was already making her way into the room. She held a tray in her hands, a warm smile on her lips, and it almost feels nice. The type of love you can only receive from a parent is something special, and while he doesn't have his father in the picture, his mother is more than enough. It's all the more reason to keep everything from her, to cover up his pain, because it would only break her if she were to find out, and Tsukishima could never do that to her.

"I brought you some lunch," she claims brightly. She places the tray on his nightstand as he moves his blanket out of the way for her to sit. "I also found your old pair of glasses since you lost your new ones."

He takes the glasses and slips them on his face, right where they belong, and the world is no longer so dizzying to look at. His mother takes a seat beside him, and he can see with clarity the worry that's etched so deeply into her being. Wordlessly, she reaches a hand out — a thin, small hand, nothing like the ones that forced him down — and gently runs her fingers through his hair.

"You don't have to tell me what happened yet," she starts, and he freezes under her touch. "You can tell me when you're ready. I just want you to know that I love you so much, and nothing will change that, no matter what happens."

His throat closes up, heavy with emotions he can't convey.

She moves her hand and gently places it on his bruised cheek, unaware, but the sentiment is clear. "I'm worried about you," she says, tearing up, "so please talk to me soon, okay?" 

He can't stop the tears that start to gather in his eyes. He wants to hug her so badly, wants to tell her everything, but he can't, he _can't._ All he can manage his a quick nod before he shifts away from his mother's hand and falls back into his blankets. He buries his face in his pillows so she can't see his eyes, can't see the tears that he can no longer control, can't see the way he's gritting his teeth, trying not to let a single sob escape him.

His mother stands from the bed. She mirrors Daichi with the singled worried glance, the frustration at her inability to do anything, before she gives up for the day and leaves the room.

Tsukishima squeezes his eyes shut, as if doing so will block out everything that's happening, everything emotion that courses through him. If he's going to feel like this, every day, he's not sure how he's going to survive.

He just has to figure it out on his own. Tomorrow, he'll walk back to school the same as he's always been, and no one will suspect a thing. Because no one will no any better, and no one ever will. He'll keep this to himself, nobody else, so that no one will worry and no one will ask their annoying questions and get the wrong idea. That’s how it’s going to be.

* * *


	3. Nimbus

* * *

_His phone is behind him, only a few feet away._

_If he could just reach it, if he could somehow text or call something, then it might save him._

_If, if, if._

_The hope is so delicate, built upon so many risks and probabilities and a plan that seems almost impossible. But he throws himself into it, because he doesn't have anything else at the moment._

_He ignores the white, hot pain that screams at him every time he shifts. He focuses only on the men, watches them turn away to bicker with each other once again, and that's when he starts moving. He inches himself backwards, tries not to draw too much attention as he pushes himself closer and closer to his phone. The argument is drowned out by the sound of his heart, beating so loudly in his ears he fears he might go deaf._

_Just a little closer._

_Almost there._

_Then one of them turns around and catches him. The man laughs, stalking forward easily and quick, then abruptly goes quiet as he sees what's laying above Tsukishima's head. A Cheshire grin stretches across his lips, realization flashing in his face._

__No, no, no, you can't, this is my last hope, you can't do this,_ Tsukishima wants to cry out in frustration. _

_He was so quickly figured out, and that fragile hope crumbles right before him. He shouldn't have put so much effort, so much belief into something like this, because look where it got him._

_The man walks over and plucks the phone off of the dirty ground, out of Tsukishima's reach. He's saying something, something that makes the mischief in his eyes light up, but Tsukishima lets the defeat wash over him and drown everything else out._

_Until the man aims the phone at him, and a harsh_ click _echoes around them._

_Tsukishima realizes too late what the man is doing._

* * *

He wakes up with a start.

His heart is pounding against his rib cage, a desperate and erratic attempt to burst free or to kill him. He curls in on himself, reaches up to claw at his chest, right over where his heart would be, as if doing so would reduce the suffocating pain. Maybe it's the lack of oxygen that's causing this to happen, the crushing weight that was pressing into his lungs, leaving him unable to draw any air in. Maybe it's the way his stomach is twisting up, reacting to each memory that surfaces in his head, to each sound and touch and regret that flowed through his veins.

He squeezes his eyes shut, huddles his knees to his chest, tries to calm his racing heart and to get some sense or normality.

It's only been one day.

And yet each time he went to sleep, too tired to get up during the daytime, the only thing that greeted him were nightmares and memories he didn't want to experience all over again. He kicks his blanket off, accepting the cold bedroom air in exchange for the overbearing heat. A glance over at his nightstand and he sees his untouched lunch, now cold, and his alarm clock that read 8:34 PM.

In less four hours, it would be tomorrow. In less than twelve hours, he would be greeting the others, filing onto the bus for their trip.

He's dreading it.

He wants to call Daichi, maybe work up the courage to ask if he could stay back, but he knows he can't afford to skip out on any training, not with the spring tournament coming up. He couldn't afford to do that to the team, no matter how he was feeling. He knew how much they cared for the games, for volleyball in general, and he couldn't go and mess that up.

He slips on his glasses, rubbing away the few stray tears from his face first, then checks his phone.

It's a surprise the old thing still works, especially since it was left out in the rain all night, caked with mud. His mother must've clean it up while he was asleep because it was the screen is cleaned, shining like a new car. He's grateful of course, but a small part ignites with panic, pouring over the idea that maybe she saw something, maybe she checked his phone and saw those photos. But if she had, she would've definitely waken him up and dragged him straight to a hospital.

He flips the phone open, and was shocked to see he had 38 missed calls and 42 text messages, most of which were from Kuroo, Daichi, and Yamaguchi. The rest of them — the ones from his teammates — were the general _I hope you made it home, I hope you feel better,_ and _we're here for you if you need us._

_Empty promises,_ he thinks to himself.

The messages from the Nekoma captain were different, thought.

  
_what's_ _going on???  
  
_

_call me, please. I need to know ur ok  
  
_

_what happened, why aren’t u answering?  
  
_

_I asked Daichi to come check up on u! those pictures, what were they?_

  
Tsukishima wonders where it all when wrong.

If he had just avoided that short cut, if he had just denied Yamaguchi's offer to stay over for a bit, then nothing would be different. He would've made it home safely, rest for a day, and then go on a training trip with his friends. God, he wished everything was different now, wished the time turned back, just a little bit. If it did, he doesn't really know what he'd do after but he'd definitely avoid that short cut.

_If, if, if._

His phone starts buzzing, and without thinking, he presses the answer button.

 _"Hello?"_ Kuroo's voice rings out from the phone, and only then does Tsukishima realize what he did. Great, here he is, fucking up again. _"_ _Helloo? Tsukki, are you there?"_

"Yes, I'm — " he scrambles for what to say. "I'm here. It's me."

There's a huge sigh of what seems to be relief coming from the other end of the line. _"That's great! I was so worried!"_

Tsukishima runs through his options in his head, tries to formulate a story that would be convincing enough, anything to get Kuroo off of his back.

_"What happened?"_

He sounds so, so worried, and here Tsukishima is, ready to lie to lie to him.

_"What was up with those pictures?"_

Not enough time, not enough _time._

_"Tsukki?"_

"It was a hookup," he finally blurts out, picking the first thing that came to mind. As soon as the words left him, he wanted to take them back just as fast, because that's not the kind of lie he was hoping to come up with.

The other end is silent for a moment.

_"You mean those photos — you were — "_

"Yes, it was a hookup," Tsukishima cuts in, trying to find some way to make it sound believable, because clearly he can't take it back now. "It happened earlier this year, when I started high school. It was a one-time thing."

_"You hooked up with someone that fast?! Wait, no, so . . . . so those photos were — "_

"I bumped into him last night, and while we were talking, he took my phone and thought it would be funny if he sent some old photos of it to you," Tsukishima fumbles on. "So, uh, sorry if those photos made you uncomfortable at all."

The other end is quiet again.

"Ah, Kuroo-san?" His throat is locking up again. "Do you think you could forget any of that ever happened?"

_"Oh, you mean you want me to delete the messages or something?"_

"Yes, that's fine."

_"Yeah, of course I will."_

"Okay."

 _"But, Ts_ _ukki, if something is going on — "_

"Just hurry up and delete those photos," Tsukishima interrupts a little too harshly. He catches his mistake, but he's too tired to do anything about it anymore. "Sorry, I guess I'm a little worn out from yesterday. I'll see you tomorrow, Kuroo-san. Goodbye."

_"Tsukki — "_

He hangs up the phone and tosses it aside.

Great, now he has more lies to keep up, and on top of that, this lie was absolutely terrible. He doesn't want to lie to Kuroo-san, or to his mother, or to Daichi and Yamaguchi and the rest of the team, but if it gets everyone to stop worrying, to turn their attention somewhere else, then that's fine. If they don't know, then they can't get involved. It wasn't like they could even do anything, either.

He has to pack.

He gets up, even though his body hurts, the bruises aching and throbbing while a burning sensation shoots up his spin. Some small part of him wants to cry out, to ask for help, but he already hardened his resolve. He wasn't going to run to anyone, tell them his sob story and hope that they do something while he can't. He told everyone that he was fine, so as long as he could keep that lie going, then nothing would happen.

He has half the mind to just shove everything into his bag, but folding his shirts, his shorts, his socks, it gives him something to do, to distract him. It provides him with a sense of normality when it feels like things are never going to be same ever again.

As he neatly folds his last outfit and places it inside the bag, mind drifts off and races with thoughts of how he was going to survive the next couple of days. Even just standing there, folding clothes, his whole body was in pain. He should bring a bottle of pain killers and just pop a few before every practice, or maybe he should just down the whole thing in hopes that it either gets him through the week or kills him.

More tears, more anger at himself, because he needs to stop feeling like this. What happened back then? It was nothing to him now.

* * *

The anger clouds his vision, fills his veins like poison. In one swift movement, he launches his phone across the bedroom. It knocks against the wall before landing on top of a pile of clothes beneath it. Kuroo would be impressed, would usually thank whatever God is looking out for him, but he's just frustrated as plops back down onto his bed.

He's angry at Tsukishima.

Angry that the younger boy wouldn't tell him what's wrong, when clearly something was. Angry that he was stuck in his room, that wasn't able to just BE there for the other boy, angry at his own powerlessness.

He hated whoever hurt Tsukishima.

The hookup excuse was the worst lie Kuroo has ever heard, even if it _had_ managed to convince him for a few moments. But his gut was telling him something was still off, and if he's learned anything, it was to trust in that feeling. Something bad had happened, but he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't prove that someone had hurt Tsukishima, even with the photos. Nothing in the text messages imply that someone is hurting Tsukishima either. The other options was to leave Tsukishima be, to just forget it all and let everything slide. 

But Kuroo knows what happened. Someone had hurt Tsukishima' someone had hurt him so bad that he doesn't want to let anyone else know.

Those thoughts alone make up Kuroo's resolve. When he sees the other boy tomorrow, he's going to force him to say would had hurt him. It's the only way Kuroo can make them pay.

* * *


	4. Promise of a New Sky

* * *

Yamaguchi waves his mother goodbye, waiting for her to do the same, before he bounces out of the house. He quickly rushes back in to grab the bag he left on the staircase, almost forgotten.

It comes as a shock to him when he doesn't find Tsukishima standing outside, waiting so they could walk to school together. It causes him to worry even more, because he hadn't heard from the other boy for the whole day, and the blond didn't text him when he got home like promise. It doesn't seem like much to arouse suspicion, but Yamaguchi knows that when his friend says something, he's going to follow through with it.

Instead, he spots a certain infamous duo standing on the sidewalk.

"Hinata!" he calls out, waving to the small boy as he jogs over to them. "Oh, and Kageyama, too! I usually don't see you guys walk this path."

"Hinata was stupid and crashed his bike a few days ago," Kageyama says, and the orange-haired boy makes an offended noise. "We met up and decided to take the long way."

"I didn't crash it," Hinata huffs, indignant.

"Well, even if you did, I'm glad," Yamaguchi says. "I usually walk with Tsukki, but he isn't here this morning. So it's cool that I got you guys as company now."

"You're awfully nice for someone who joins in when Tiredshima insults us," Kageyama points out bluntly. Yamaguchi can't find a good response to that, so he just looks away and starts talking about something else.

The whole way to school, the conversation switches to friendly banter, mainly between Hinata and Kageyama, while Yamaguchi occasionally butting in to voice his own opinions and thoughts. They talk about their upcoming trip, the mountains where the training grounds are supposed to be, how it'll be cool to get out of the city for a couple days. Hinata remarks how he's excited to play withe the Nekoma team, and Kageyama only scowls at the mention of them. But it's still nice, because the banter is refreshing, and for a moment it makes him forget about the bad feeling in his stomach. 

He thinks about the Nekoma team, then to their captain, and he almost falters in his steps when that train of thought leads him to Tsukishima.

The bad feeling in his stomach returns.

He feels almost stupid, because throughout all the years that he knew Tsukishima, the taller boy was not one to get into trouble, to need someone to save him. But he can't help but feel that something was amiss, even if he can't put it into words the wrongness he feels. Tsukishima wasn't one to talk about his feelings, to cry, for as long as Yamaguchi knew him. If he tried to say anything, he has no doubt the taller boy would turn him down, and it wouldn't probably cause more damage than help.

He doesn't want to hurt his best friend, he just wants the other boy to know that he cares. That he just wants to help.

"Yamaguchi, are you all right?"

He snaps out of his thoughts, surprised to see that they were already a few streets closer to the school.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he says, glancing over to Hinata and Kageyama. "Why?"

"Oh, you just had this really intense look on your face," the smaller boy continues, tilting his head slightly. "Me and Kageyama were wondering what you were thinking about."

"No I wasn't," Kageyama mutters. He yelps when Hinata drives an elbow into his stomach.

Yamaguchi tries for a smile. "It's nothing. I was just thinking, is all."

They turn the corner, and the school is in view now.

"You were thinking about Tsukishima, right?" Kageyama asks.

Yamaguchi grins sheepishly, nodding, wondering if he was that obvious the whole time.

"We heard what happened," Hinata says. "Well, we only heard the gist of it from Daichi-senpai, but it seemed like he was really worried, too. He said that Tsukishima told him he fell when it was raining two days ago."

The day when Tsukishima had left his house, right. It was pouring back then, or at least he thought it was, but it actually got worse as the hours went by.

"Have you talked to him yet?" Hinata asks.

"No," Yamaguchi says, shaking his head. "I haven't heard from him since then. I didn't even know that he fell."

"Don't think about it so much," Kageyama speaks up, surprising the other two boys. "Give Tsukishima some space. He'll come and talk to you eventually. Because . . . that's what friends do, right?"

They're odd words coming from Kageyama, usually so sullen and socially incompetent (no offence), that Yamaguchi wonders if he imagined it. But by the way Hinata is reacting, eyes wide and sparkling, it's clear that Kageyama really said that. It actually does make Yamaguchi feel better, makes his smile a little more easy to pull up. It's not the advice that he was really looking for, but then again, if you always heard what you wanted to hear, then what was the point?

"Thank you, Kageyama!" Yamaguchi exclaims brightly. The taller boy merely shrugs, indifferent to the gratitude, and Hinata once again elbows him in the stomach, pointing out how he should respond. The morning seems just a little more hopeful.

* * *

_Be normal, just act like you always do, and no one will find out._

It's Tsukishima's mantra now, privy to only him. He repeats the words as he pulls on his clothes, grabs his bag, puts on his coat. He repeats it whenever he moves, the bruises and soreness still lingering throughout his body, though less prominently than yesterday. No longer did he feel the need to throw up from the lightest of touches against his stomach, and the pain killers he found in the medicine cabinet were actually working. The white, hot pain was now just a numbing sensation. 

It was bearable. And just maybe, he could get through the week.

He stuffs the small bottle of pain killers into his bag, hoping that it would be enough for the next few days. He even packed a couple of bandages for the now-blueish bruise that was on his cheek. The swelling had gone down, but the small that was made from the constant direct hits to that area remained, and he needs to keep it covered so it would heal properly. And if he has a bandage covering it, his teammates won't be able to see how bad it looks and worry as much.

He puts all of his supplies in when his mother isn't looking, in between all of his clothes and sports equipment, a place she hopefully won't look through. He prays that it all lasts, because he has no time to stop and get more.

He moves slowly as he walks down the steps, trying to hide the limp in his step, but it's hard to when whenever he places pressure on it, he feels like it'll give out under his weight. Still, he pushes through, grinding his teeth, because his mother is downstairs and he can't have her notice now.

"Oh, Kei!" His mother peeks her head out of the kitchen, just as he makes it down the stairs. She looks happy, and he can only imagine that it's because he's out of bed. She moves towards him, thin arms outstretched for what seems like a hug.

But he still panics.

Just a little too harshly, he places a hand against her shoulder, forcefully stopping her from coming any closer. He might've pushed her, because she stumbles back a bit, but he's not too sure because he doesn't really know what he's doing right now.

"Sorry," he mutters, and that's not enough of an apology, but his mother's expression softens anyway. "I don't want a hug right now."

This is the phase that parents are afraid of; when their children will begin to turn away from their love and affection, forsaking them for various reasons unknown, and turn to other places to find that same feeling instead. But his mother doesn't look afraid of that, like it never occurred to her that it would happen to her own children, like it never occurred to her that it could be happening right now. She just looks sad.

The shame courses through him, burning his throat, his chest, his head. The air around them is suffocating.

"That's okay," his mother murmurs anyway, a poor attempt at acting like it doesn't matter. "Oh, here, why don't you have some breakfast before you head out? It's going to be a long trip, and I don't know what they feed you boys when you're gone."

"No thanks, I actually need to get going," Tsukishima says, and his mother pauses, only having taken a single step towards the stove where the food was cooking. Her smile is fading even more, and Tsukishima wonders if he's ever seen her that unhappy since their dad left. 

To have inflicted so much pain on his mother, that it rivals the pain their _father_ inflicted on her, it almost hurts Tsukishima more than what happened. Seeing his mother like this, and knowing that _he_ was the one who made her feel like that — it hurts so much that he's itching to leave so he doesn't crack right there.

He turns to the door and reaches for his shoes. "If I woke up earlier, I'd have enough time to eat."

"I see."

"I'll miss the bus if I don't leave soon," he goes on.

"That's okay, I understand."

"I'll see you when I get back."

"Of course. I'll see you then."

He turns around towards the door and pulls it open.

"Kei?"

Something tugs at the sleeve of his jacket, gently, with the same care one would give to a child. Tsukishima stops before he makes it out the door and glances back.

"I love you," his mother simply says.

He swallows past the lump in his throat. "Yeah," he manages to say back, "love you, too."

* * *

Tsukishima is the last one to show up, surprise surprise. His teammates had their bags in the compartment under the bus and were already climbing onboard. He was sure he was walking fast, or at least his normal pace when it came to his daily commute.

Maybe he was slower today, weighed down by the hesitation and the fear that clouded his head, the doubts that plagued each step he took. The fear that they would all find out, would somehow just look at him and _know_ everything that happened, it sends fear bubbling through his veins, leaves his heart pounding against his rib cage in a rhythm that he couldn't keep up with.

God, what was he even doing here? He should've stayed home. If he told the others, then they would understand, right? He wouldn't have to play without acting like he wasn't covered in bruises and pain, he wouldn't have to play at all.

 _They'll be disgusted,_ something tells him. 

He believes it.

"Tsukki!"

He tries not to flinch. He didn't even notice when Yamaguchi started walking towards him, that he was trying to get his attention at all.

"Mornin'," he mutters quietly, nodding once to the younger boy. Nothing more than a single word, because his mouth is suddenly dry, and he always responds curtly when talking with others, even his best friend. That's normal for him.

"You alright?" Yamaguchi says, slowing down to a stop when he nears the taller boy. "I've been trying to get ahold of you for the last couple days. I had to hear from Daichi that you fell when it was raining. Is that it?"

Tsukishima's hands are sweating. He shoves them in his pockets so that nobody can see him twitching them, a habit that he's picked up since he was younger. He doesn't miss the way Yamaguichi's eyes follow the movement. 

"Yeah, I slipped in a puddle while it was raining," he mutters, and the smaller boy's attention shifts back to him. "I wasn't paying that much attention."

"See, I told you, you should've stayed at my place for the night," Yamaguchi mutters, and Tsukishima holds back a dry laugh at that; it's the understatement of the year. "Dude, did you fall forwards? That's a _huge_ bandaged on your face."

The smaller boy reaches a hand up, and Tsukishima steps back and dodges his touch. 

* * *

_There it is._

_That's how Yamaguchi knows something is wrong._

_Because while Tsukishima doesn't like people unnecessarily touching him, Yamaguchi is an exception to that rule. But the way the taller boy evades his reach, the way the muscles in his neck tense up, the way he had shoved his hands into his pockets moments before, those reactions solidify Yamaguchi's suspicion that something going on._

_Something that Tsukishima doesn't want to tell him._

_He's hurt that Tsukishima doesn't trust him enough to talk, to let him in. It's selfish of him to think that way, but he can't help it._

_He watches the way Tsukishima's face goes blank, twitching back slightly, the way it does when he's trying to figure out how to handle a situation, when he's racking his brain trying to come up with something to say._

* * *

Yamaguchi looks hurt, and Tsukishima looks away, adding another tally to the list of people he's hurt so far; _Daichi, Kuroo-san, his mother, and now, his best friend._

"It still hurts, so don't try to touch it or anything," he murmurs. He feels bad — weak, even — as he stands there, lying to his best friend, but already made up his mind. He couldn't tell anyone. And Yamaguchi would take it the hardest; he would blame himself for not trying harder to keep Tsukishima from leaving the house, would blame himself for not checking up on him sooner, when he wasn't the one who should be blamed. Not even close. If anything, this was all Tsukishima's fault.

He raises a hand to his face to poke at the bruise, flinching slightly at the dull pain that resonates when he does so. Maybe he should just keep poking it, relive that pain to make it up to those he had hurt so far. It's only fair.

Yamaguchi snaps forward and grabs his arm before he can react.

 _Don't punch him,_ Tsukishima tells himself. Like Daichi, Yamaguchi isn't someone he doesn't know. His hands are small, his presence is familiar, and they're out in the open parking lot. No cramped alleyway, no brick walls caging him in.

"Tsukki, your wrist!" Yamaguchi cries out, and Tsukishima is still panicking but nobody else is looking their way yet. "Your whole wrist is blue! How did that happen?!"

"I fell," the blond repeats through gritted teeth. He tugs his arm away, but the smaller boy's grip does let up doesn't let up _he isn't letting go._ "I put out my hands to catch myself when I did."

"But, it goes _around_ your wrist — "

"Yamaguchi — "

"Tsukki, if there's something you wanna say — "

Tsukishima rips his arm away, and they both stumble back from the force of it.

"Drop it," he hisses coldly. He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't wait to see Yamaguchi's reaction, because his heart is hammering in his chest, his lungs are frozen, and he's going to have a heart attack before he can say another word. He steps around the smaller boy and makes his way to the bus. He feels Yamaguchi's gaze digging into his back, scrutinizing every little detail, and Tsukishima forces himself to walk straight through ache.

 _You're going to get yourself killed before this is all over,_ Tsukishima tells himself as he hurries onto the bus. He ignores the other teammates trying to get his attention and plops himself down at the back of the bus, because if he interacts with them he's not sure how long he'll be able to keep the conversation going. He just has to ignore them for the whole bus ride, maybe catch a few more hours of sleep, anything to calm his nerves. It's moments like these where his headphones come in handy, and it's almost comforting as he slips them over his ears and blasts a familiar track.

The world around him goes silent, no longer raining, and he is numb to it.

He glances out the window and sees Daichi standing outside, along with the rest of the team. He must be giving a speech or something, to encourage and inspire them to do their best, and on any other day Tsukishima would hit himself for evening wanting to hear it. But now he's split down the middle; he doesn't want to hear empty words, empty promises, and yet he also wants to listens, wants to hear those false hopes, wants to let himself drown in them until it washes away all the bad feelings. 

His eyelids grow heavy, and he figures that's the sign that it wasn't meant to be.

He closes his eyes, lets the fatigue pull him under.

The rain grows heavy outside.

* * *

"Asashi, Asashi, look," Suga says. He reaches over the aisle to bonk Asashi on the head a few times, and doesn't stop even when the other boy doesn't respond. "Do you see the mountains?"

"Yes, I can see them," Asashi says. His eyes aren't even open.

"Is it your first time being in the mountains?" Daichi asks, looking over at Suga, who nods in response to the question.

"The last time we went, I was young, so I don't remember much," he says. But his eyes are still sparkling as his gaze drifts back to the window, to the dense forest and towering mountains around them. "It's still really beautiful up here."

Nishinoya and Tanaka, both near the back of the bus, yell something incomprehensible, but it must be something good because Hinata joins in, and soon the three of them are grinning like idiots. It's a wonder nobody has told them to shut up yet.

Daichi settles back into his seat, thinking about the week ahead of them. If he recalls correctly, they would be training once again with the members of Nekoma, though he heard there was some incident with the Fukurōdani team that had interfered with their availability. It was a shame they couldn't train with other experienced players, but at the very least, he knew his teammates would get along well with Nekoma.

Teammates.

Tsukishima.

Daichi's light expression falters for a second as that certain first-year comes to mind. The seed of worry that was already present in his stomach makes a comeback, and he doesn't try to push it away, because as the captain of the team, it was his responsibility to look over and care for each of his teammates. But Tsukishima wasn't into people worrying over him, wasn't into showing any emotion besides his usual antagonistic nature (though that tends to change when he's speaking with his upperclassmen). The blond just took it as pity, which Daichi could sort of understand but it was immensely _frustrating_ when the younger boy was obviously struggling.

But he couldn't just force him to talk, no matter how tempted he was. That was no way to get someone to open up, especially if something bad had really happened. Daichi is pinning on the hope that here, at the training camp, Tsukishima might give one of them some answers. Even just the smallest hint.

Nishinoya yells something out again, accompanied by Tanaka and Hinata, and this time Shimizu turns around and tells them to be quiet. 

Daichi brings back his smile, makes sure to mask the worrisome aura from the others, because even though they all know something's up, he doesn't need to heighten their concern any further. 

* * *

_The only thing that passes through his mind right now is his bed. When this is over, when he makes it back home, he'll collapse into those familiar sheets and hopefully never wake up._

_Even has they run their filthy hands all over him, even as they strip him of his clothes, he tries to distance himself from it all. Tries to make it so that he's an outsider, hovering and watching, not experiencing it himself. Maybe that way, it'll hurt less when he remembers it. It'll feel like a bad dream, so real and vivid but nothing more than a fantasy that he created in his head._

_It's a horrible feeling when he realizes he's half-hard._

_He doesn't know why he's reacting, especially to something like this, but that doesn't stop his erection from twitching under the attention the men give it, doesn't stop the pleasure that shoots up his spine even as the bile in his stomach rises. It is a mess of pain and unwanted pleasure, and that's probably the worst part of it all. That even under these circumstances, the Gods don't spare him the mercy of not enjoying this heinous act._

_He wonders how anyone could be so cruel as to do this to another human being, so cruel as to stand back and simply watch as it happens right before their eyes._

_They're too impatient, moving too fast. Maybe the rag and the tape is the only mercy he needs because it swallows up the screams that he can't. His whole body feels like cement, so hard to move himself but they flip him over onto his knees with ease. They move him around to their likings, and he just lets them, because it's easier that way._

_He gasps and ruts into their hands, because there's so much going on and he can't keep up with everything that's happening. His breathing is rising and falling faster, and with every push and pull as they drag him this way and that, he unwittingly ruts against their hands again and again. The friction against his cock is quickly becoming too much and he —_

_The bile in his stomach is fluttering up a storm as he comes from sheer horror, relief, and nausea._

_What cuts through his haze of self-loathing is the sound of a zipper being pulled down, the sound reaching his ears with perfect clarity despite the rain, despite their laughter and words, despite his heart pounding in his head. He squeezes eyes shut, because here it comes, this is what he was expecting but it's so much scarier even when he's tried to mentally prepare himself for it. Nothing could prepare him for this._

Tsukishima jerks awake.

The bus jumps along with him, almost throwing him off the seat as it knocks against a bump in the road, and that's fine with him because the alleyway floor didn't move. It's a reminder that he's somewhere else, and that he's _going_ somewhere else that's far, far away. But even so, his eyes snap open, darting around to make sure that nobody is there, nobody is looming over him, nobody is reaching out to grab him. It takes him a few seconds, but he sees that nobody is sitting near him, they're all on the seats near the front.

He shudders, trying to calm his breathing, and he settles back into his seat. 

The first coherent thought that comes to mind is that he is _doomed_ for the next few days.

* * *


	5. A Watery Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god instead of Asahi it's been fuckin typing ASASHI fml. god I'm not gonna go back and change those typos.

* * *

Tsukshima can't find the strength to go back to sleep, so he's awake for the rest of the ride up the mountain. And the others are _obnoxious_ as usual.

Even with his music blasting in his ears, he can still hear Hinata, Tanaka, and Nishinoya yelling at each other throughout the bus, various conversations that Tsukishima couldn't care enough to determine. The only good thing about it was that it was keeping him awake. Other than that, it's just adding to the pounding headache he woke up with, to the noisiness that leaves him shaking with misplaced fear. His saving grace is that nobody is close enough to notice the tremble in his hands, the way he tangles them together and presses them close to his chest as though trying to hide it.

Everyone else is oblivious. Even Yamaguchi, seated somewhere in the middle of the bus, somewhere he can't see every twitch and panicked reaction that crosses Tsukishima's face.

But even with that relieving thought, the rain is still present, that humid air consuming and suffocating him. So he keeps his eyes open, rests his head against the cool glass of the bus window, and tries to let the screeching voices of his teammates pierce through anxiety clouding his head, no matter how much the noise grates against his head in the first place.

His mind feels like it's stuffed with cotton for the rest of the ride.

* * *

The bus slows to a stop.

Tsukishima doesn't need to peek out the window to know they've arrived. He reaches for his bag, tugs his jacket closer around his body, slips back on his headphones as he stands up. He waits until everyone else is off before he moves to follow. Daichi sees him, starts walking towards him with his mouth open, looking like he wants to say something. Tsukishima turns up his music louder, and pointedly walks in the opposite direction.

Daichi doesn't follow him.

"Okay guys, gather up your stuff and take them to your rooms," Ukai cries out over the restless chatter of the team. "Afterwards, we'll be meeting up with Nekoma in the gymnasium. So make sure you're all prepared."

"I'll race you there!" Hinata hollers at Kageyama, right in the taller boy's ear, before he takes off towards the building. Kageyama hisses something under his breath, before shouting towards the orange-haired boy and running after him.

Tanaka and Nishinoya, both in sync, waste no time running behind them. Daichi already looks overwhelmed by his team's antics.

Everyone else walks at a normal pace. Everyone split into their separate groups, and it should come as no surprise when Yamaguchi strays from the others to walk alongside Tsukishima but it does. It's probably the way that the smaller boy is constantly glancing up at him, poorly checking to see if he's okay, that surprises him. Leaving him unsteady.

"What is it?" he forces out.

Yamaguchi flinches, clearly caught. "No, it's just, uh," he mumbles. "Nevermind. I thought you just looked sick, is all."

"And?"

"Well, if you're sick, then you shouldn't be playing, right?"

"You just want a better chance to get on the court."

"That's not it!" Yamaguchi cries out, indignant. "I wouldn't stoop that low."

Tsukishima makes a point to stay silent at those words, and Yamaguchi gently knocks him against the arm for it. Tsukishima's skin crawls at the gesture.

"I'm just worried about you, Tsukki," the smaller boy says afterwards, sighing. "Is that so hard to believe?"

Tsukishima keeps his gaze locked in front of him, resisting the urge to turn and meet Yamaguchi's stares head on, resisting the urge to run back to the bus and stay there the rest of the trip.

"I already told you what happened," he says instead. "Stop making a fuss over nothing."

He moves ahead, his long legs finally advantageous for once, and strides into the building. Yamaguchi stays behind with the others.

* * *

The cool air washes over him. For the first time, he almost feels prepared enough to remove his headphones, to take in the full sound of his annoying teammates.

The rooms they were staying in were similar to the ones they had at previous training camps; spacious enough to fit their whole team plus some, with numerous futons laid out across the floor. Tsukishima moves past the others and drops his bag on the futon that was on the far right corner of the room, marking it as his. Only one person next to him. Just one.

Hesitantly, he removes his headphones. The music fades, taking with it the smallest bit of comfort it had originally provided, the wall that had separated him between facing reality and hiding in the deepest recesses of his mind.

He can't be seen wearing his headphones all day, especially during practice. He just has to grin and bear it. He drops the device into his bag, tossing in his MP3 alongside it. He turns back around to see that everyone else is getting changed, slipping into their gym uniform, grabbing their water bottles and their towels. They're probably preparing for the day's workout, similar to last time, and —

He's suddenly frozen, rooted to the ground and unable to move as the realization hits him; the bruises and marks on his body, the ones not hidden by his clothing, scattered around his arms and legs. 

The terror grips at his heart, squeezing it until he can't breathe.

"Alright guys, remember," Ukai calls out, piercing through Tsukishima's daze. "It's hot out today, and I don't want anyone to get a heat stroke. So fill your water bottles and take breaks when you need to, got it?" 

The conditioned air throughout the building was enough to keep them cool, but with Ukai's warning that meant the workout was going to be tough, and the air wouldn't be of much help. Maybe Tsukishima could wear his jacket, just to cover the bruises on his arm, and compensate by wearing shorts, but even that was stretching it far. Ukai would never let him play with his jacket on, especially after warning them about the heat. Think, _think,_ he needs a way out.

"Hey, Tsukki, are you daydreaming?" Yamaguchi asks.

"No," he says, a little too quickly, and that only causes the other boy to look more worried. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes. My stomach must be acting up from the bus ride or something."

Yamaguchi's eyes widen. "Are you sick then?!" he cries out, too overenthusiastic with his concern, and his voice carries to the others in the room.

"Shut _up,_ Yamaguchi," he hisses.

"Sorry, Tsukki," the other boy mutters, quieting down instantly, but it's too late.

"Now that you mention it, Yamaguchi," it's Sugawara who speaks up, approaching the two with Asahi and Daichi at his sides, "you _do_ look a little pale, Tsukishima."

"That isn't — "

"Eh?! Tsukishima has a cold?" Tanaka butts in.

"I do _not_ — "

"Maybe you should sit out for today," Asahi suggests.

"I don't _need_ to — "

"Yeah, you should sit out. Don't pass it onto me," Kageyama mutters, and Tsukishima wants to smack him for that. Thankfully, Hinata does that for him. Daichi splits off to make sure the two of them don't fight.

Sugawara steps forward and places a hand on Tsukishima's head, patting him gently. "If you aren't feeling well, then you shouldn't push yourself," he says, smiling softly, but Tsukishima is more focused on not curling away from the touch. "It's important to take care of yourself, okay?

"I'll go tell the coach that you don't feel well," he finally says, and before Tsukishima can even get a say in it, Suga is walking off. The second years bounce out of the room after him.

His chest feels lighter, relieved of the terrorizing pressure on it before. Shockingly, he feels a little more calm. Maybe the stupidity of his teammates was actually useful for once, or perhaps it was the fact that he now had an excuse to skip out on training. If he was on the bench because he was 'sick,' then the others wouldn't bat an eye if he kept on his jacket and pants.

He feels . . . oddly happy.

Then the guilt comes crashing down in waves.

Because here he is, thinking about sitting back and doing nothing as his whole team works their asses off, practicing and preparing for their future games. Sure, the bruises sucks, but with the painkillers, it's _manageable._ He shouldn't be standing back like this, just because he couldn't handle just a little pain. He's just going to disappoint them all.

He feels bad again.

 _Great,_ of course, he's not allowed to be happy, not even for a split second. It was stupid of him to even think that his brain would give him a break. 

* * *

_Tsukishima looks like he's in pain._

_After all these years of knowing each other, Yamaguchi has learned to pick up on certain habits and tells. If he couldn't tell when his best friend was in pain, then what was the point?_

_A lot of people are walking out of the room, and Yamaguchi is about to follow behind, but he stops at the last moment. He turns, tries to find Tsukishima's eye._

_And Tsukishima faces away from him, towards the window, purposely looking at anything and everything else._

_Hinata pats him on the shoulder, ushering him to head to the gym. Reluctantly, Yamaguchi leaves the room._

* * *

Daichi lingers at the door after everyone is gone, Asahi at his side.

"Do you . . . feel like throwing up?" the captain asks.

Tsukishima already knows what he's trying to do. "No," he responds flatly.

"Is it the heat then?" Asahi chimes in, glancing between Tsukishima and Daichi. "It's hotter up here in the mountains than it is in Miyagi."

"Could be it," Tsukishima mutters.

A knock on the door, and they all turn to see Sugawara standing there.

"Coach wants you on the bench today," the third-year says as he walks up to them. "He also noticed you seemed a little ill, so he wants you to rest up so you can play tomorrow."

"Do you think you'll be good tomorrow?" Daichi asks.

"Sure," Tsukishima agrees halfheartedly.

Daichi's expression twists, and he opens his mouth, looking like he wants to say something, but he refrains from doing so. His gaze darts over to Sugawara and Asahi.

"That's good," the captain slowly says instead. "Let's head to the gym then. We'll have time to talk when we get everything done."

"I'll join you guys in a bit," Tsukishima says. "I just need some air for a moment."

"Got it," Sugawara agrees. "The gym is down the hall and to the right. Come join us when you're ready, okay?"

Tsukishima nods, giving an unenthusiastic wave as the three third-years all leave the room. He pretends he doesn't see the look Daichi gives him.

* * *

_The pain is manageable,_ he tells himself. Because it is. It shouldn't be something for him to whine over.

The headaches suck, the constant reminder of what happened whenever he moves a muscle sucks, but it's manageable. He pops in two painkillers, because clearly one wasn't enough. He doesn't let himself linger in the room for too long, and despite his inner turmoil he's making his way to the gym.

 _One day at a time,_ he thinks.

No one even notices when he comes into the gym. Already, his teammates were catching up and talking with Nekoma, stretching and preparing for their practicing match. Without thinking, Tsukishima's gaze drifts around the room, until it lands on Kuroo. The Nekoma captain has his arm draped over Kenma's shoulders as they chatted with Hinata and Kageyama. He looks calm, happy, and Tsukishima briefly entertains the thought that he forgot about the messages.

"Tsukishima!" Coach Ukai calls out, snapping said person out of his daze. "You're sitting on the bench today. If at any moment you need to step out, just let me know. Got it?"

Tsukishima nods his head.

"Good. Now, go sit down. Just because you're off the court today, doesn't mean you still can't learn something."

The painkillers are kicking in, finally. He's floating, drifting through the gym as he finds a spot on the bench, close to Yachi, Shimizu, and Sensei. The full effect of the painkillers come in after about an hour, or so he's heard, but even now, he feels pleasantly numb. There is no stiffness in his shoulders, his hips aren't aching, even sitting on the wooden bench he didn't feel anything. He could get use to this.

He closes his eyes, lets the conversations echoing around the jump breeze past him, lets his mind drift (but not too far. too far is bad).

That's when he feels it; someone staring at him.

He blearily opens his eyes, scans the gym, searching, and he catches Kuroo's stare. Similar to everyone else who was suspicious, his brow is furrowed and his lips are pressed into a thin line, contemplating. Tsukishima closes his eyes again, turns his head in the other direction, but he still feels Kuroo's gaze digging into him.

Tsukishima's hands are numb. _This is a mistake,_ something tells him, and laughs as he wonders what it's referring to.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"What are you talking about?"_   
>  _Tsukishima tries not to glare, to keep his expression steady._   
>  _"The rain?" he tries to clarify. "It's the worst day possible for us to be training outside. At this rate, we'll get sick."_   
>  _"What are you going on about?" Nishinoya asks again. "It's not raining at all."_   
>  _Oh, Tsukishima thinks, dumbfounded. This is what it must be like when the whole word is against you._
> 
> -  
> -  
> -
> 
> Extra Notes:  
> \- never used painkillers before, so the timescale for when they kick in is purely based on researched.


	6. Isolated, Scattered, Widespread

* * *

Coach Ukai blows his whistle, before he shouts at everyone to take a break.

Tsukishima cringes at the shrill noise that nearly sends his bones rattling. He stands slowly, one hand resting on his lower back, as if that would ease the pain and soreness that the painkillers missed. The rest of the players step off the court at the sound of the whistle.

The whistle is not enough to cut through the pleasant, painkiller-induced haze filling Tsukishima's head, though. He's still floating, legs a little less unstable, pain more manageable. He guesses that's what happens when you take multiple at once. He accepts a water bottle from Shimizu, before turning and walking out of the gym, not even bothering to see if anyone was going to question him.

He's never taken drugs before, but he imagines that this is what it feels like. He muses to himself, wondering what kinds of drugs he could buy when he gets back home. He's not being serious, it's just the delusional imagination of someone who just wants to stop feeling for a while. 

He stumbles out of the building. Distantly, he wonders when was the last time he ate, because his stomach is doing flips. He wonders if he's limping as he walks to the outdoor sinks, located under a giant tree about ten feet from the gym doors. He wonders when the painkillers will wear off, if he's going to have enough or if he's going to be stupid and finish them today.

He slows to a stop near the sinks, leans against them, and closes his eyes. He didn't realize his breathing was being to pick up, didn't notice the shakiness in his hands, because the painkillers were supposed to fix that, right?

He laughs out loud.

 _Right,_ he thinks to himself, _two days of rest and a few painkillers wasn't enough to pull me through the first day of the trip._ In all honesty, he thought he'd be fine after that first pill.

"Hey, you okay?"

Tsukishima eyes shoot open and he whips around.

Kuroo is standing in front of him, and — Jesus, how long has he been there? This whole time?

Tsukishima stands up straight, brow furrowing slightly at the dull pain from his lower back at the sudden movement.

"What is it?" he asks, and if his voice is a little hoarse, they both don't say anything.

"Are you okay?" Kuroo repeats, looking only slightly amused at his disheveled response. "It's not like you to be stuck on the bench the whole time. What's up?"

"I'm fine," Tsukishima replies, trying to wave off the concern. He shifts back, tensing up when the older boy tries to come a little closer. They both don't say anything about that, either.

God, Kuroo was one of the few people he didn't want to talk to today, or for the whole trip. He saw the photos, and the lie Tsukishima came up with as an explanation was atrocious, and he could blatantly see that the older boy didn't believe the lie all that much. _Think,_ he tells himself. He needs to think of another story that was more convincing.

"Are you sure?" Kuroo asks again, scrutinizing him.

"I already said that I'm fine," Tsukishima says. "The bus ride was loud, so I couldn't sleep. I suppose it's just fatigue."

It sounds plausible enough, but it doesn't seem to convince Kuroo.

"You aren't telling me the truth," the older boy says, and for a moment he sounds so hurt that it rips at Tsukishima's heart. "You're lying. Everyone's seen the way you're limping — and all those bruises, too! Why won't you tell me?"

"Stop it," Tsukishima snaps, "just — stop being so loud."

"Then talk to me," Kuroo replies, not missing a beat.

"It's just like I said; I'm tired," he repeats. "That's just like you, Kuroo-san. To get worked up over others for no reason."

"There is a reason this time!" the other boy says, almost pouting. "Clearly, something's wrong."

 _"There's nothing wrong,"_ Tsukishima stresses, harshly. He doesn't mean to come off so mean, but Kuroo's presence was upsetting him, more and more. "Just go back inside. You'll fall behind if you aren't there, practicing with the others."

He sees the moment Kuroo's expression drops, and Tsukishima's heart sinks to his stomach. Great, he thinks to himself, he's just continuing to hurt those around him. _Selfish,_ something yells at him in his head, and he full-heartedly agrees.

He expects Kuroo to walk away, disgusted with his behaviour, but the older boy stays rooted to where he's standing. And he just looks sad.

"C'mon, tell me what's going on," Kuroo pleads.

Tsukishima drops his head, letting his gaze fall to his feet. He feels tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, and he hates it.

"Is it something you can't tell me?"

He hates this so much. He just wants to keep it all to himself, because this was _his_ pain, and no one else's. Nobody else had to know. Did Kuroo not understand that?

"Or do you not _want_ to tell me?"

Shut up, shut up, _shut up._

He's so loud. Deafening, even through the harsh downpour of rain beating down on them. He grabs his wrist tightly, trying to quell the urge to just _attack_ Kuroo, because that's all he can do now, right? Fight, and fight, and fight. Maybe this time, it'll actually do him some good. Maybe this time, he can get out.

"What about the photos then?"

He freezes.

"Can you explain that to me at least? Those pictures you sent!"

He feels like the world is ending. Which is stupid, because he knows that the world is so much bigger than him, that he's just a speck of dust in the wind, but all at once the anger and anxiety and suffocating hopelessness is crashing into him like a tsunami, wiping out all the walls and defences he's laid out before him. The world is ending, and he's just standing there.

Kuroo reaches forward, placing his hands on Tsukishima's shoulders, and he just wants to cut his arms off.

"You need to tell me what happened," the older boy says, and that's all it takes.

The moment those words leave Kuroo's lips, Tsukishima felt something crack inside him. He can't stop the tears that start to roll down his face, can't stop the sob that threatens to burst out past the lump in his throat. Kuroo lets go of his shoulders, and Tsukishima uses that chance to turn away, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes, nearly dislodging his glasses.

_Tell him?_

_No, never. I could never do that to him._

Because he could never tell someone, and they wouldn't want to hear about it, anyway. 

He's mad at himself, mad at what happened and what's happening to him, mad that Kuroo and the others are confronting him all the time when he doesn't need them to. 

"Wait — Tsukki, are you crying?" Kuroo's eyes are wide, shocked.

 _I'm not crying,_ Tsukishima wants to say, but he can't get anything past his heavy breathing, the hiccuping sobs that force their way out of his throat.

"Wh — hold on, Tsukki." Guilt flashes across Kuroo's face. "I'm sorry — that's not — I didn't mean to scare you or anything — !"

Kuroo reaches out to him again, but Tsukishima twists out of the way just before he touches him.

"Can you _not_ do that?!" Tsukishima he manages to force, but he's still shaking all over and he's not sure he can hold it together any longer.

Kuroo looks distraught. He opens his mouth again, about to say something else, but Tsukishima pushes away from the sinks and runs towards the building. He can hear Kuroo yelling after him, getting farther and farther by the second, but he can't make out the words he's saying. Everything is suddenly too loud and jumbled, too much for him to process. He needs the world to be _quiet._

Daichi, Sugawara, and Asahi exit the gym, just as Tsukishima darts past them. Daichi calls something out, but Tsukishima can't hear him. He ignores them and focuses on the path in front of him, stretching out for what seems like forever.

He doesn't know where he's going. He just lets his legs carry him, unable to do anything else. 

* * *

Kuroo feels like shit. 

After being in charge of a team for so long, constantly looking out for his teammates and underclassmen, he thought he learned recognize when someone was spiralling. And yet it was only after Tsukishima started crying that he realized he'd done something wrong.

He didn't mean to make the younger boy cry — honestly, he didn't! — but he just felt so hurt that Tsukishima wouldn't trust him, so angry that someone had hurt Tsukishima in the first place. He just wanted to hear the truth, instead of standing around and watching the younger boy suffer alone. He wanted to make all the problems go away.

He laughs to himself, covering one part of his face with his hand.

 _Some help I am,_ he muses. 

"Kuroo-san?"

He removes his hand from his face. He's still standing in the same spot, not even an inch forward. It's the third-years from Karasuno — Sawamura, Sugawara, and Azumane. He didn't even know they were there, much less hear them approach.

"What happened?" Sawamura speaks up again. His brow was furrowed in worry, and his lips were pulled down into a frown. _That's good,_ Kuroo tells himself. At least he doesn't appear to be the only one who's concerned.

He shrugs, trying to find a place to start. "We were talking, and then he got upset and ran. He seemed out of it for the whole practice, so I was just trying to help him. I didn't even notice he was starting to freaking out," he explains, and that explanation doesn't even _begin_ to cover what's on his mind, but it's enough of an answer to satisfy the others.

"Why did he get upset?" Sugawara asks. "Did something else happen?"

"I wouldn't know," Kuroo says honestly. "He won't tell me what's wrong. You guys know, right? That he's holding back something?"

The third-years all look guilty at that. Kuroo figures that they, too, knew something was up, but just didn't know what to do about it.

Maybe he shouldn't have let Tsukishima run off. Instead of waiting around forever until the first-year was ready to talk, maybe they should've sat him down and pressed him until he gave them an answer. They should've spoke to him before this whole trip even started.

"I-I'm going to go talk to him."

It's Azumane who speaks up, and everyone glances at him in surprise, even Kuroo. He expected Sugawara to step up (since he seemed to be a parental figure on Karasuno's team), or even Sawamura since he's the captain.

“Are you sure, Asahi?” Sugawara asks, eyeing the taller man with apprehension.

Azumane nods. He doesn't wait for anyone else to say anything after that, to protest. He spins around and heads back into the building, and for a moment, it's the most confidence Kuroo has ever seen with Azumane.

"C'mon, Kuroo-san," Sawamura says, and Kuroo looks back at him. "Asahi's got this. Tsukishima's in good hands."

* * *

Do painkillers help with panic attacks? 

Tsukishima isn't sure, but so far, it doesn't seem like it. If they did, then he wouldn't be running through the halls, shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down his cheeks. He doesn't even know where he's going; he just wants to get away from people, to be alone for a little while. Heaven knows he's in no state to talk, much less wrap his mind around what just happened.

They keep bombarding him and cornering him here and there, badgering him when all he wants is to forget. He just doesn't want his teammates or anyone else to know what happened, is that so much to ask? He already knows it's his fault, that he should've stayed with Yamaguchi that night, that he should've done more to fight back, _he knows._ He wishes the world would recognize that and give him a break.

God, he feels disgusting. He wants to shower for a whole week, drown in the burning water until it washes away all the pain and replaces it with its own.

His legs are quickly turning into jello, causing him to stumble as he continues to run down the hall. He needs a place to sit, to rest, to hide until everything just blows over. He slows down, hand smacking against the left wall until he finds a door handle, and he rushes inside.

He shuts the door behind him, pressing his back against it, and it's then that he notices the total darkness surrounding him, besides the light that peaked under the gap from the door. How convenient that he ends up in the broom closet, he thinks to himself.

The room's cramped, and one would think that it'd remind him of the alleyway, caging him in, but it doesn't; maybe the small space is actually helping. He wants to become smaller and smaller, until he disappears altogether and there's nothing left. The room also reeks of cleaning detergents and rust and other smells that are too overpowering for him to distinguish, but the different smells actually help to calm him down, or to at least distract him.

He fumbles with the lock of the door, then slides down against it until he hits the floor.

 _Calm,_ he tells himself as he pulls his legs his chest and buries his face in his arms. He wipes at the lingering tears on his face, tries to ignore the way his chest feels like it's going to burst open at any minute. Was he running for that long? Maybe that's why he was out of breath.

God, he doesn't even know what to do anymore. He wants to take more painkillers, wants to replace the bandage on his face that's beginning to peel off, wants to get up and continue running until everything is so far behind him that he doesn't recognize it anymore. But his body refuses to move. He can't bring himself to get up, to leave. Everything just seems too difficult all of a sudden. So he sits there, in the dark closet, trying to collect enough pieces of himself as the world crumbles around him.

"Tsukishima?"

It's a familiar development. Tsukishima's head shoots up, accidentally banging it against the door in his haste. He turns around right afterwards, scrambling away from the door. The light peering through the bottom gap was shadowed, like something was sitting against the door on the opposite side. He doesn't respond, but the tension in his shoulders does lessen slightly.

"Uh, it's me," Azumane Asahi says on the other side. Even with the door separating them, his presence is almost calming, because it's been rooted into everyone's skull how much of a quiet and gentle person he is. And with the door between them, Tsukishima doesn't have to see his huge, intimidating figure.

He feels himself relaxing, just a bit.

"Er, I saw you running," Azumane goes on. "The door closed when I turned the corner, so I figured you were in here. I — _we_ just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Hesitantly, Tsukishima moves himself until he's sitting against the door. He imagines Azumane doing the same on the other side.

"I'm fine," he says, quietly. He's been saying that a lot recently, hasn't he? Maybe because if he does, it'll eventually become true. 

"Tsukishima," Azumane says again, tone serious.

The tension comes back at full force.

Gone is the brief relaxation that Tsukishima was feeling, and now he's back in reality. He braces himself again, because he knows what's coming; Azumane is going to try and force him to open up, is going to hound him until he hears the full story of what's going on. Tsukishima doesn't know if he can handle that, especially not after his and Kuroo's conversation, because out of the rest of the team, he doesn't want Azumane to turn on him, too. His breathing is picking up, so loud that Azumane can probably hear it, even outside the room.

There's a gentle tapping, and Tsukishima tunes back in just in time to hear Azumane say, "Can you tell me five things you can see?"

 _"What?"_ Tsukishima replies instantly, a little breathy, because that's not what he expected to hear.

"I, uh, well," the third-year mutters, sounding just as surprised as Tsukishima feels. "It's like, a grounding technique? I learned it a few years back when I first came to Karasuno, and — well, it's supposed to help bring you back to the present when you're having a panic attack. Or something like that."

Azumane is stumbling over his words, which is kinda funny. And relieving at the same time.

"So," the third-year says, "five things you can see?"

Tsukishima swallows. ". . . wall, floor, shoes, broom, and a shelf."

"Four things you can touch."

He brushes his fingers against his face. "My glasses, jacket, shirt, and, uh, my face?"

"Three things you can hear."

"Your voice, my voice, and you tapping against the floor."

"Two things you can smell."

"Cleaning detergent. And rust, I think."

"One thing you can taste."

"Uh, my saliva, I guess."

Azumane stops talking, and Tsukishima glances around again. All at once, he feels the room is a little brighter, and that the screaming in his head has receded a bit. The walls don't feel like they're closing in. It's almost like magic.

Azumane gently taps against the door again "Did that . . . help? At all?" he asks.

Tsukishima shrugs, then remembers that the third-year can't see the gesture. "Sort of," he replies.

"That's good," the older boy says back.

The tapping loses its rhythm for a moment.

"Y'know, I never really tried it myself," he admits, sounding a bit sheepish. "In the moment, I always forget to."

"Really?" Tsukishima murmurs.

"Yeah," the third-year says. "I mean, no one really thinks on actively calming themselves down. They usually start spiralling out of control before they even try to. I guess it works better when you're helping someone else calm down instead of yourself."

Tsukishima hums and closes his eyes, leaning against the door.

"Tsukishima?" Azumane calls out. "All of us care about you, and if you don't want to talk, we won't force you."

Tsukishima could cry just hearing those words.

"I want you to know that we're all here for you. We'll never judge you, will never look at you differently, no matter what happens. We're willing to wait until you're ready to speak with us."

Those words ease the little bit of pressure on Tsukishima's heart, taking away just a bit of the weight on his shoulders. It almost makes him feel better.

"Talking about it does help, but like I said, you can talk when you're ready," Azumane continues. "So, just know that we're all here for you. Take all the time you need."

"You're not gonna _force_ me to speak?" Tsukishima can't help but ask.

"Of course not." There's something that sounds like a sigh on the other side. "I never liked when people forced me to talk, either. I-I mean, sometimes a little push is what you need, but in certain situations, it isn't. So, uh, yeah."

. . .

_Should I tell him?_

It's a possibility he never considered would be okay. But with Azumane's reassurance, it makes him want to entertain the idea that things might turn out okay.

But at the same, that thought sends shame bubbling in his guts, disgust at himself for even believing it. Because really, what would he say?

 _Sorry, but I always thought telling you guys is a shitty idea,_ he'd say. _I was stupid and walked home in the middle of the night and while it was raining, I was attacked and raped because I was too stupid and weak to fight back, and even though you guys will tell me that it isn't my fault I still feel like it is. Also, did you know that I orgasmed while they were raping me? Wait, where are you going?_

The mental image is enough to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

"Thank you, Azumane," Tsukishima says instead, barely above a whisper. 

But the older boy catches it anyway. "No problem."

Nothing's changed, but he can at least thank the Azumane for trying.

He glances down upon seeing the shadow move and the sound of someone shuffling on the other side.

"Uh, I'm gonna leave now, if you wanna come out of there anytime soon," Azumane says. "I'll tell everyone that you aren't feeling well, so you can go back to the room and get some rest. Is that good?"

Tsukishima makes a noise of confirmation.

"Okay, er, I'm going now," the older boy says awkwardly. He pauses, before adding, "Everything's gonna be alright."

With that Azumane starts heading back to the gym. The footsteps get quieter and quieter, until the halls are silent once more.

Tsukishima inhales deeply, leaning his head back against the wall. There's suddenly so much more to process, and his head was too jumbled to sort through everything at the moment, feeling as thought it's stuffed with cotton. But he feels somewhat . . . better. Not happy, just less panicky than before. But while he does feel a little lighter, he knows it's only a matter of time before he comes crashing down again, harder than before.

He stands up and quietly opens the closet door. Nobody else is around, lingering in the hallway, so he slips out and makes his way to the room where they're all sleeping.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Note: NEVER FORCE SOMEONE TO TALK. that's a big fucking no. wait until they're ready. forcing someone to do something is never the right way to go about things, and that's probably going to make them more agitated and shit. be patient; they're trying their best, and pushing them is going to fuck with their heads.
> 
> -
> 
> a bit OOC. tried to fix it, so let's see how it turned out.
> 
> painkillers don't cancel out (or prevent) panic attacks, pretty sure about that.
> 
> never tried the grounding technique before, but hey, maybe it works for other people. head canon that azumane has anxiety attacks and stuff when no one's looking.


	7. Rapid Flooding, Low-Lying

* * *

_They easily overpower him._

_He's always been thin, a bit fragile because of how little he ate, but his height has always compensated for that. Towering over everyone else was a good enough defence to prevent people from trying to start a fight with him._

_But his height has no bearing on the current situation._

_They grasp his thin wrists, pulling them back, and it's an easy feat since they're already tied together. He shudders a little as one of the men's long, hard length presses against his hole. After a breath and a single wet finger, it forces its way in, tearing through the delicate flesh in an explosion of raw agony._

_Tsukishima chokes, and then he screams._

_There's no one coming, of course. The rag in his mouth swallows his cries, and there's nobody on the streets. The men made sure of that._

_Tsukishima bites his nails into the palm of his hands, enough to draw blood, as the first man's hips slam repeatedly against him. He's trembling violently with the effort of keeping himself upright against the assault, but he's slipping; his knees slide roughly against the rocky ground of the alleyway, slippery with the rain pouring down. Something warm is trickling down the back of his thigh, an odd feeling enough to differentiate between the rain —_

_his own blood._

_The man whispers how good he is in his ear._

_The area before Tsukishima is_ _beginning to float, turning white in his blurring vision. Minutes or hours later, the man suddenly stops, burying himself to the hilt, kissing the outer shell of Tsukishima's ear._

_He stays still long enough for Tsukishima to catch his breath, for the naive hope that he may stop to plant itself in Tsukishima's head, before adruptly resuming. Tsukishima cries out a little before he digs his nails into his palms again, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and mixing in with the raindrops. It isn't long before the man's vicious rhythm stutters, and something else fills his torn and bloodied passage._

_He makes no sound._

* * *

Tsukishima wakes up.

Just like the other day, it's so hard to breathe. His vision is blurry with black spots, and his heard is pounding away underneath his fist from where he's gripping his sweaty t-shirt. He turns to lay on his side, pulls his legs up to his chest, and tries to calm his breathing, tries to use that grounding technique he vaguely remembers learning not-so long ago, but his throat is closing up and it's like his lungs are non-existent.

He shoves his face into his pillow, and cries.

He cries about what he's been through, and what was to come. Sadness, hatred, frustration, hopelessness, anger _—_ all at once, it hits him. It was stupid of him to even think for a _second_ that he could tell anyone. How the hell could he speak to someone about this without wanting to bury himself in a ditch and suffocate? How the hell was he expected to come forward and talk, when the mere idea sends him spiralling and scared? 

How on earth could he confront his team about this, when all he can see is their revulsion and disgust in his head?

He curls into himself and continues to cry.

It takes almost half an hour for him to finally settle, until there's no strength left in him. He sits there, eyes closed, basking in the darkness while he tries to focus on his breathing. But the memory weights heavy on his shoulders, twisting his stomach into knots. He can't stay here.

He moves to stand, but then he winces in pain. He was starting to feel the burning pain in his joints again, the numerous bruises that ached. The painkillers must've worn off in his sleep, so he reaches into his bag for the bottle and pops a few more pills into his mouth (it burns without water to wash it down, but that doesn't really matter to him). Like an afterthought, he grabs the fresh bandages a few seconds later and gets up.

Slowly, he makes his way to the bathroom down the silent hall. It's empty, thank goodness, because he doesn't want to see anyone right now. He just needs to change his bandages, and then hopefully back to sleep.

He stumbles into the vacant bathroom and looks himself in the mirror. Instantly, he can see the reason why everyone was so persistent, so keen on his wellbeing. He looked how he kind of felt inside; dead. He's been sleeping more than a few hours at a time, but his eyes look sunken in, dark circles lining under them, prominent even with his glasses on top. His lips were dry, slightly cracked, and the bandage on his cheek had begun to dislodge itself in his sleep.

Dammit, even his appearance isn't cooperating with him. Everything in the universe is conspiring together to make sure his life is complete hell. Maybe it's trying this is the world's way of trying to tell him something, and message that can't be relayed through words alone.

So absorbed in his haggard appearance, the loud bang of the bathroom door nearly sends him jumping five feet into the air. He turns to the side, muscles tense. He's been doing that a lot, too; registering too late when another person is in his presence.

But that tension begins to slip away when he realizes it's Sugawara that came in. If anything, the third-year appears just as surprised to see him.

"Tsukishima," Sugawara starts, masking away the shock in exchange for a soft smile. "It's good to see you're awake again. How are you feeling?"

Tsukishima rests his weight on the sink, forcing a small smile. "I'm fine. Turns out I just needed some sleep."

Sugawara hums in agreement as he walks further into the bathroom. At first, he heads for the stalls, but much to Tsukishima's dismay, he stops and peers over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" the older boy asks, pointedly looking at the bandages then back to Tsukishima.

Tsukishima glances down at the bandages, at the small tremor in his hands that almost unnoticeable, and shrugs. He can't find it in himself to tell Sugawara it's for the bruise on his cheek, the bruise that was like a badge of shame. He didn't want the others to see it so prominently on his face, such a gruesome reminder of what happened. Not if he could prevent it.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

"Don't worry," Sugawara says anyway, before Tsukishima can try to speak again. "It's fine, I get it. Here, let me help you change it."

The third-year keeps that soft smile of his, eyes filled with understanding, and slowly holds out a hand. Tsukishima's throat is closing up again, too many emotions causing it that he can't pinpoint one. Instead, he ignores the voices in his head screaming at him to get away, and hands the bandages and other supplies to the older boy.

With slow and methodical movements, Sugawara gets to work; he peels away the old bandage, gently cleans his face with a few sheets of paper towel and water, and applies the new bandage and adhesive with careful hands, managing to avoid pressing on the bruise and cut throughout the whole procedure (and any other bruise, too). The whole time, he spoke about the volleyball practices they did that day, about the interactions with the members of Nekoma, about the shenanigans Hinata and Kageyama got up to again. It almost feels _normal,_ like Tsukishima was just being treated for another accident he had during practice, and he felt himself relaxing. Like Azumane, Tsukishima feels okay allowing Sugawara to help him. 

"There, all better!" Sugawara exclaims, finished checking over everything to make sure it'll stay. He smiles up at Tsukishima brightly, then turns to wash his hands.

. . .

"Thank you," Tsukishima surprises himself by saying.

He just wanted to be treated like he used to, and Sugawara did just that. The older boy didn't even mention the other bruises, visible where the clothes didn't reach. He didn't even _look_ at the marks, at anywhere else besides the bruise and cut on Tsukishima's cheek that he was patching up.

"It's nothing much," Sugawara replies easily. "Now, come on. Dinner's ready pretty soon, so wash your hands."

Tsukishima quietly moves to do as he's told. He wants that moment to stop forever, wants to relish in the feeling of someone caring for him, someone treating him _normally._ Because that's what he missed; the normal, simplistic life, where he was just a high school student that was in a volleyball club in his spare time.

~~_How on earth could he confront his team about this, when all he can see is their revulsion and disgust in his head?_ ~~

The warmth is quickly overshadowed and pushed away, leaving nothing but the freezing cold in its wake. He can't — he shouldn't be feeling so calm, shouldn't be so accepting of such kindness, because that's not what he deserves; he isn't deserving of such tenderness that's being freely offered to him.

He dries his hands. Sugawara is waiting for him by the bathroom door, and they both make their way to the cafeteria together. Sugawara doesn't question the sudden shift, and Tsukishima is grateful.

* * *

The cafeteria falls silent the moment Tsukishima walks in.

Kuroo wants to smack each of them on the head, but before he can do so, Sugawara quickly starts up a conversation with the nearby groups, drawing their attention away. Eventually, everyone else returns to what they were doing. Tsukishima locks eyes with Kuroo once, briefly, before he moves and sits next to Yamaguchi. He doesn't look back up.

Kuroo swallows thickly, and goes back to eating his dinner. But it's hard to eat when the guilt is weighing heavy in his throat, when each bite tastes like nothing but ashes.

He hurt Tsukishima. His words and actions had scared the younger boy enough to send him running, and it was eating Kuroo up. Was it so much to ask for to know what was wrong? He just wanted to help, that was the only thing on his mind.

So, he just sits there, picking at his food, keeping one eye on the other boy. There was no way he was going to let him out of his sight, especially after their fight earlier that day. Tsukishima would never act out like that; every single time a problem arose, the blond would use that sarcasm of his as a defence mechanism and an hour later, after both parties sorted themselves out, they would talk.

And that's why Kuroo knew something was up. He narrows his eyes as he watches Tsukishima eat (he ignores the whispers from Kozume next to him, pointing out how creepy he looks). The blond looks blank as he chews and swallows, movements slow and slightly strained. The bandage on his cheek is new, and Kuroo just knew there was something bad under it. A while ago, he had seen the small scratches along his arms, and black and blue bruises on his wrists that the jacket didn't cover. It's one of the reasons he had followed Tsukishima outside back then.

"Are you staring at that kid from Karasuno?" Kozume whispers, suddenly close, and Kuroo almost jumps. "Uh, the super tall one with the glasses?"

"Eh, is it that obvious?" Kuroo mutters, back to sulking and poking at his food.

Kozume shrugs. "I think everyone's looking at him."

"You, too?"

"Well," Kozume says, glancing over, "he _is_ pretty tall; it's hard not to. And, he looks like he was attacked by a wild animal."

That's when it hits him.

"Kemna," he says suddenly, and Kozume glances back up from his game. "Say that again. No, wait, what else does it mean when people you say you looked like you were attacked by a wild animal?"

Kozume is still, before shrugging slowly. "Sex?"

 _"Exactly,"_ Kuroo says, and Kozume still doesn't seem like he gets it. Which is fine, because Kuroo is too busy piecing together the puzzle for himself. The photos, the marks and bruises, the way Tsukishima has been acting recently — he's no expert, of course, but there's little room for doubt in his mind.

He knows what happened, or at least he thinks he does. There's no other possible explanation once you connect all the pieces.

_Holy crap, he's so fucking dumb._

Tsukishima was raped.

It was a possibility alongside a list of others that he didn't even _want_ to consider (such as abuse), but how could he doubt it now, when the facts were staring him straight in the face? In all honesty, he wants to lean towards abuse instead, because he doesn't want to imagine his first conclusion happening to Tsukishima.

He can feel his blood boiling as he watches Tsukishima attempt to eat more of his food. He just wants to go out there end whoever laid a hand on him.

It's a risky decision, but he decides that he'll confront Tsukishima again tomorrow, and this time he will hear the truth from his mouth.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly rushed, but whatever.


	8. The Eye of the Hurricane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Here," Tsukishima says, handing Yamaguchi a towel. "Dry yourself off before you get sick."  
> "Dry myself off?" the smaller boy echoes.  
> "Because of the rain?"  
> Nishinoya and Tanaka are glancing over at the two of them, faces unreadable.  
> "But Tsukki," Yamaguchi says slowly, "it's not raining."  
>  _Oh,_ Tsukishima thinks, _that's right, I forgot. For them, the sky is clear._

* * *

Tsukishima doesn't eat much at dinner.

Yamaguchi notices, but doesn't say anything about it. After all, they both know he isn't like Hinata (who eats about a day's worth of food in one sitting). He eats as much as he can, which is, admittedly, not that much. Even when the hunger gnaws at his stomach, he doesn't think he can tolerate anything more.

When he stands up to leave the cafeteria, having finished only about a third of the tray, Yamaguchi offers to go with him. He declines.

He makes his way to the bath house, as fast as he can go. The adrenaline from a while ago is gone, his current energy not sufficient enough for him to break out into a run, but he has to hurry anyway. After dinner, he imagines that the others will want to shower before bed, as they usually do.

The bath house is empty, a small mercy that he didn't expect. He wonders if it would be selfish to lock the doors, but decides to anyway, even against the stab of disgust in his chest. 

He starts to take off his clothes. He clumsily pulls off his shirt, hanging loosely off his thin shoulders, his pants that used to be a little tighter but now risk slipping down his hips. The door to the bathhouse is locked, so he tosses the articles of clothing into the cubby and leaves it open, too lazy properly secure it.

He moves to his underwear next, pulling it loose and sliding it down badly bruised hips and down long, pale legs. He curses lowly.

He's bleeding.

He can't decide whether he wants to shower for eternity or to throw up what little food he has in his system. He must've not noticed anything because of the painkillers. There's a small stain on the inside of his underwear, and his whips it inside the cubby with the rest of his clothes, repulsed. He decides that he wants to shower for eternity, and heads into the shower area.

He grabs a towel, wraps it around in waist in an attempt to cover up and keep what little dignity he has left. But he feels so exposed, so vulnerable, and the bruises all over his body throb even though he can't feel them.

He spins around, expecting someone to be standing behind him, but he is alone.

He hurries into the shower, turns the faucet, lets the water run over him. It washes away the blood that clings to his legs and pelvis, around the sharp overhang of tailbone and the outside of his hole. He feels disgusting.

He leans on his knees, avoiding sitting on the stool. He continues to clean himself, and the rest of the process is automatic, ingrained into his memory after so many years of doing it that he lets his mind wander for a bit.

The rag he's cleaning himself with brushes against his hips, across the harsh purple-blue bruises littered there, and he stops.

He leans down, letting the water wash over him, and cries. 

_Screw everything,_ he thinks to himself. Screw the pain that refuses to go away, screw those men who treat other people like they aren't human beings, screw Azumane and Sugawara and Kuroo for caring when that kindness just feels like a knife twisting in his chest. Screw his inability to just forget every and move on, screw himself for breaking down so easily in front of the others, for being unable to hide it all.

He can't _sleep_ anymore.

He can't do _anything_ anymore. He's tired all the time, and scared, and afraid, and sometimes that fear hurts so much he feels like he's going to die. Maybe he should. For everything to just stop and disappear — it seems so much easier. Because whenever he feels like he's getting 'better' — or whatever the hell that means — it all just comes crashing back down.

He clenches his teeth, trying to hold back the sobs. The tears mix in with the water, seamlessly, until you can't tell it apart.

* * *

Kuroo feels like shit.

That seems to be a common feeling for him these days, funnily enough.

Kozume is quick to point out his haggard appearance the next morning; the exhaustion in the way he carries himself, the fatigue that presents itself in the form of heavy shadows underneath his eyes, the stiff bones that force him to stretch longer than usual. It was affecting their training, evident in the way Nekoma lost to Karasuno twice in a row, and it wasn't even noon yet. As captain, he shouldn't be setting such a bad example for the team, but the agitation that kept him up all night was still present.

That's why he was so surprised when he saw that Tsukishima was playing today.

"Kuroo, you look like you wanna say something," Kozume points out as they walk off the court to get a drink.

"Do I?" It's a rhetorical question at best, and Kozume is wise enough not to answer, just hands him a water bottle. Kuroo's attention shifts back over to Tsukishima.

The lanky teen is wearing sweat pants and a short-sleeved green shirt, along with wristbands that strategically hide his wrists from view. They had switched back to simple technique training a little after a few practice matches, so the coaches didn't care what you wore as long as it didn't hinder your movement. But Kuroo could already see that Tsukishima was getting tired. His skin, normally pale, was accentuated by a bright red flush across his face that ran down his neck. His movements were jerky, only moving at the last minute and making the minimalist moves, as though trying to stay as still as possible.

"What are you making that face for?" Kozume cuts in as he tosses the volleyball over.

Kuroo snaps out of his thoughts, reacting quick enough to catch the ball before it hits his face. "What face?"

Kozume scrunches up his nose, narrows his eyebrows, and brings the expression together with an unpleasant twist of his mouth.

"I don't look like that," Kuroo pouts. "Besides, 's nothing."

"Mhm."

Kozume clearly doesn't believe it, and Kuroo wouldn't blame him. He does intend to tell Kozume about what's going on, but not now, when things are so fragile and even Kuroo doesn't know where to begin. Last night, he couldn't even get a wink a sleep; his stomach refused to settle and his chest ached from the events of that day. Tsukishima was in pain, and knowing that he had only made it worse was killing him. And he can only imagine how he'll feel when he decides to tell Kozume.

The thing is, he wants to figure out what happened, but after he laid down the plan in his mind last night, he knew he couldn't go through with his initial plan of action; confronting Tsukishima again and demanding an answer would most likely send him fleeing again, and he didn't want that. He has to think of another way.

He looks over at the bench on the other side of the court. His eyes land on Sugawara, and the silver-haired boy immediately catches his gaze. Kuroo's not sure if he's imagining it, but he feels there's an understanding passing between them; the determination for a similar goal. Kuroo finds himself respecting Sugawara more and more.

Kozume suddenly stops tossing the volleyball. "Kuroo," he calls out, and said person tears his gaze away from Sugawara.

"Yeah?"

"Your friend from Karasuno," the smaller boy says, still focused on something to his left, and Kuroo finally turns to check what he's looking at.

Tsukishima is standing still, one hand carefully holding his glasses while the other clutches at his head. His eyes are squeezed shut, and the red flush across his face almost troubling at this point.

He sways once, violently, then he's crashing to the floor.

There are cries of surprise and concern that echo throughout the gym, most notably from Yamaguchi, who immediately stops what he's doing and scrambles over. The whistle blows, and now everyone's staring, whispering among themselves or taking hesitant steps forward to get a better look. Without at second thought, Kuroo rushes under the net and heads over to Tsukishima.

"Guys, give him some space!" Coach Ukai cries out as he draws near, Takeda-sensei, Shimizu. and Yachi closely behind him. "Someone help me out, we're going to take him to the infirmary."

Kuroo immediately steps forward. "I can carry him," he offers, and Ukai nods. Kuroo swiftly loops his arms around Tsukishima's knees and behind his shoulder blades and lifts him. It's a little too easy.

The crowd that has gathered around them make way as Ukai and Takeda head out of the gym, Kuroo trailing after them. He catches Yamaguchi's gaze on the way out, and the smaller boy looks like he's about to cry.

Kuroo feels like he might, too. He looks down at Tsukishima, and wonders when the last he felt genuine, complete panic wash over him was. He rushes down the hallway, blindly following Ukai and Takeda as they lead him through the building. He was so caught up that he didn't even realize Shimizu had ran ahead, and she was there waiting for them when they reached the infirmary. She holds the door open, and there's a brief moment of solidarity between them as he nods his head at her once, then makes a beeline for one of the beds.

"Set him down on the bed, and place a few pillows under his legs so that they are slightly raised," Shimizu instructs as she shuts the door. "We have to elevate them as to help the blood flow to the brain."

"Should we call 1-1-0?" Ukai asks, patting his pants and jacket in search for his cellular device. "I didn't even realize he was sick."

Shimizu stands at one side of the bed, then gently reaches out a hand and places it on Tsukishima's forehead.

"He's sweating quite a bit," she mutters. She then pulls her hand away and leans forward, tilting her head so that hovering above Tsukishima's mouth, listening. "His breathing is fine, and it doesn't seem like he's having any trouble with it. However, it would be best to wait a little longer, to see if he'll wake up."

"You two," Takeda-sensei says, glancing between Shimizu and Kuroo, "please watch over him for a little longer. I'm going to call his mother." He looks uneasy as he walks out of the room, phone in hand.

"I'll be right back," Ukai speaks up next. "I have to go to the gym and inform the Coach Nekomata what's going on. Will you two be okay?"

They both nod. Ukai gives them one more look, before he heads out, too. The door slides soundlessly shut behind him.

Shimizu turns back to the issue at hand. "Does his shirt look tight to you?"

"I, uh, I guess?"

"It may be too hot in here," she explains. "Any tight-fitting clothing should be loosened, so it doesn't restrict his breathing. Can you take his shirt off, please?"

Kuroo bites back the blush that threatens to grace his face, because he shouldn't be getting so bothered over something like this, and it really wasn't the time, either. As he moves to do as he was told, Shimizu moves over to the head of the bed and gently pokes Tsukishima's cheek.

"Tsukishima," she says, raising her voice slightly, "can you wake up? It's almost lunch, barely even noon."

The first-year stirs under her prodding, until he gives in and his eyes flutter open, albeit only slightly. He groans and raises one hand to cover his face, muttering something under his breath, before his head lolls to the side, eyes closing once more. Shimizu pokes him again, persistently.

"You need to stay awake," she says firmly.

This time, Tsukishima manages to keep his eyes open, though they're half-lidded at best, exhaustion settling deep in the heavy shadows under his eyes. In all honesty, it looks as though he doesn't even understand what's going on around him, much less register it.

"There we go," Shimizu cheers, sounding delighted, but her face is its normally blank expression. "I'm going to get you something to drink."

She stands up, and as she passes Kuroo, she raises her eyebrows at him, expectant. She leaves the room, and Kuroo is left there to finish what she had told him to do. Briefly, he wonders if she left the room specifically to give them space, but that train of thought is fleeting and quickly derails onto other subjects.

He grips the bottom hem of Tsukishima's shirt, and he has to pause for a moment, forcing down the guilt and shame clawing at his throat, before he slides the fabric up.

He finds the first bruise, already purple and blue, covering the expanse of Tsukishima's stomach. Then he finds another one, and another, and soon he's mapping out Tsukishima's skin using the marks, following one after the other. The bruises spread across his shoulders, made of sharp corners and ridges of the bone beneath, to his hips, badly bruised and accompanied by fingerprint-shaped marks pressed into the skin.

He pulls the shirt fully over Tsukishima's head, slides thin arms out of the sleeves. He lays the fabric on the empty table beside the bed.

Kuroo can't fucking breathe.

"What happened?" he whispers, and he doesn't know if he's asking Tsukishima or himself. He places a hesitant hand on Tsukishima's wrist — he tugs off the wristband, and sees the bruises that have carved themselves into the skin. 

Tsukishima's head lolls to the right, where Kuroo is. But he's blinking rapidly, eyes cloudy and dead, unfocused. A few times he closes his eyes for too long, and just when it seems like he's fallen back under, he blinks opens them again.

"Kuroo?" 

He didn't even hear her come in.

Shimizu is motionless at the door, rooted to the ground as she stares at Tsukishima. Some fucked up part of Kuroo wonders what she's staring at first; the way his bones jut out, a little too pronounced, or the unsightly marks that litter his pale skin.

He pulls out the thin blanket that was folded at the bottom of the bed and covers Tsukishima with it, and she snaps out of her trance.

"What happened?" she finally asks after a long moment, trembling only slightly.

"I need to talk with you and Sawamura," Kuroo says, tone somber, not bothering to answer her question. Just those two for now, maybe Sugawara and Azumane, too. "Can you get him?"

He holds her stare, awaiting an answer. Shimizu's face falls, finally realizing the severity of the situation, and she nods. She places the jukebox she went to fetch on the table, before taking her leave.

Tsukishima's eyes follow her out, but they're still dazed. He hasn't even noticed his shirt was taken off, that everything he was probably trying to hide was exposed, that all his efforts were for naught.

"Are you thirsty?" he asks. 

And Tsukishima just stares at him, blankly, but Kuroo swears he sees him swallow almost nervously.

The silence becomes too much. He gets up and leaves the infirmary, feeling nothing and yet everything all at once. He steps outside, and there waiting for him is Sawamura, Shimizu, Azumane, and Sugawara.

"Did she tell you?" he asks.

Sugawara shifts from one foot to the other. "Just the gist of it."

"You aren't going to like it," he says. "But you guys are the only ones that should know right now."

Shimizu is staring at her feet. Sugawara's eyes are locked on the infirmary door, gaze intense, like he was trying to see through to the other side. Azumane looks sick.

“Please tell us what you know,” Sawamura says, polite as ever, but firm. Unwavering.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never used a bath house before, so the whole scene is based off of the things it showed on the anime/manga and on research.
> 
> extra notes:  
> \- tsukishima is already thin to begin with, but it's kinda hinted that he has an eating problem/disorder that started a few months or so before this story begins. it's why he faints later on in the chapter, because he's already been skipping meals and stuff and all that came together.
> 
> \- internal bleeding — actually, more like tearing along the walls (of the passage). I think a lot of people forget that after a traumatic incident like rape, if there's no preparation before penetration, there's likely going to be tearing and bleeding. so yeah, tsukishima's still bleeding.
> 
> \- without medical attention, idk how long it would take to heal properly, and it probably stings like a bitch (dulled by the painkillers). as someone who's torn through their skin and then showered sometime after, it sucks.
> 
> \- 90% sure that the police number in Japan is 1-1-0. could be wrong tho.
> 
> \- if someone faints, please talk with an adult or medical professional on what to do. because that part might not be 100% accurate in such a situation.
> 
> \- my sibling took two painkillers and they can't feel sHit and got a headache, so don't take more than two at a time kids. headaches suck ass, so tsukishima passes out from one or something idk this was not written by a medical expert. just from personal experience.  
> \- so uh, let's say tsukishima is high off of painkillers and has a major fuckin headache. those two things combined together = he has no idea wtf is going on.
> 
> \- next chapter's going to be much longer, and it's going to fucking suck for tsukishima. just a heads up.
> 
> \- kuroo might be ooc, but come on. would you be all sunshine and rainbows in that situation?


	9. Cyclone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe kuroo should've told like, the coaches maybe? but he's kinda stupid and talking with other third-years seems like a better option to him.

* * *

The five of them make their way to the room next to the infirmary, needing a private place to chat but wanting to stay close in case something happens. Sugawara makes himself comfortable on the ground, and after signalling the others to join, one by one they sit until they form a circle.

It's quiet, no one wanting to break the silence, to be the ones to initiate a conversation that seems like it won't end well. Or maybe they're just trying to find a place to start, trying to pick out a place in the puzzle that won't break it all.

Sawamura isn't looking at anyone; his eyes are narrowed, concentrated, the kind of look he has when he's making a play for volleyball or when he's concerned about his team's wellbeing.

"Take your time, Kuroo-san," Sugawara speaks up, bravely, but his tone was gently and patient. "Nobody is rushing you to speak. It must be hard to, especially given the circumstances."

 _Karasuno sure is lucky to have someone like Sugawara as their vice-captain,_ Kuroo thinks. He wonders what kind of path the silver-haired boy would take in this situation, whether he would try to spare Tsukishima of as much pain as possible, or if he would hurt the younger boy for the purpose of pushing him in the right direction.

Kuroo's already made his choice.

"You guys already know, right?" he starts. "That something happened to him?"

Looking somewhat guilty, the others nod.

"I think it started a few nights before we came up here — before the training camp, I mean," he goes on. "Tsukk . . . Tsukishima's never said anything to me about it, obviously, but I got some weird messages from him on the night it happened."

"Messages?" Azumane echoes.

"Yeah, from him. Or at least, I think it was him," he says. "But the pictures he sent, and the way he was — " he clamps up, feeling sick. "They were just . . . giving me really weird vibes."

"Pictures? What were the pictures of?" Sawamura asks.

"Take your time," Shimizu reminds him.

Kuroo shakes his head. "I can't show you guys the photos, they're really bad. Tsukishima already asked me to delete them, and there's no doubt he doesn't want anyone else to see." _He'll hate me if he finds out._

His hands, intertwined and resting in his lap, are trembling. It's a habit that Tsukishima has whenever he's nervous, and the others know this, too, by the way they follow the movement.

"You don't have to show us," Azumane speaks up. "You can just . . . describe it? Unless it becomes absolutely necessary, we won't ask you to show those pictures. We just wanna figure out what happened, so we can help." His hands are shaking as well, whether from apprehension or resigned expectation. Shimizu reaches over and soft places a hand on his shoulder, comforting, and it seems like such an intimate gesture between them.

Kuroo feels relief surge through him; while he knew that Tsukishima would still be upset and (rightfully so), they were finally stepping forward towards the truth of what happened. He feels a little more resolved to move forward, even as his throat goes dry when he opens his mouth, when the words lay heavy on his tongue.

"I — the first photo was someone with tape over their mouth," he says, reciting from memory, because no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get those pictures out of his head to the point that they've ingrained themselves against his will. "The second one . . . Tsukishima was on the ground, his hands were behind his back, and his, er, undergarments were tangled around his knees."

Sugawara covers his mouth with one hand, breath hitching, and Shimizu moves to comfort Azumane again.

"And the last one, he was looking at the camera, but he looked out of it and in pain," he manages to finish. "I — don't judge Tsukishima for this, it wasn't him who took those pictures and sent it. If you guys just _saw_ the photos, then you'd know it too! It's not — what I mean is that he would never do something like that."

He didn't explicitly state it, but he can tell by the varying looks of shock and concern and anger crossing the others' faces that they have a vague idea of what happened. He can see it now; that sickening feeling of dread filling the pit of their stomachs, the icy chill that runs down their spine. If they looked at the photos, he has no doubt they would get sick right then and there.

But it had to be done. They had to know what happened. That's what he's telling himself, anyway.

Shimizu picks off her glasses and wipes her face with the back of her hand, head bowed low enough that no one can see her eyes, but the way her shoulders tremble is enough of a tell. This time, it's Azumane's turn to comfort her, with his hand on her shoulder this time. Sawamura reaches over and slips his hand into Sugawara's.

"It's then that I realized something was up," Kuroo speaks up again, because they need to continue or else they aren't going to get anywhere further, even though it pains him to rush through this. "He told me that it was a hookup, but I didn't believe it. And then we met at the training camp, and there were these bruises on his arms and wrist, and then when I tried to talk to him about it, we fought and he ran off."

Sawamura's face twists up when he mentions the bruises, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

"You saw them before?" Kuroo asks.

Sawamura nods solemnly. "I went to his house after you told me to check on him. His whole wrist was red and it looked like it was starting to swell. He told me he fell, and I believed it. At least, for a while I did."

"There was more bruises," Kuroo says, and the Karasuno captain flinches back, gaping. "All over his body. Shimizu-san, you saw them too, right?"

They all turn to look at the manager, and Kuroo immediately regret directing the attention to her. Her eyes are puffy and red, visible even with the strands of hair obscuring her face, with the way she's pointedly staring at her knees. She doesn't speak, just nods in response to Kuroo's question.

"Yamaguchi came forward this morning," Sugawara mutters, and everyone looks to him next. "He had some concerns regarding Tsukishima. He said that Tsukishima wasn't eating and sleeping, and that he was acting strange. He said that . . . that Tsukishima looked _scared_ half of the time."

It's all coming together. They could be totally wrong about this, sure, and Kuroo would _like_ to be wrong; that way, Tsukishima wouldn't have suffered. But the facts are there, all the individual pieces of the puzzle coming together to form one single image.

"We need to to something about this," Sawamura says, and nobody disagrees.

"What can we do thought?" Azumane asks. "Tsukishima doesn't seem like he's going to say something anytime soon. We saw how he reacted with you, Kuroo-san, and when I talked to him, he didn't even say a word about it."

"But, he has no choice now, right?" Kuroo says. "We saw the bruises. When he wakes up, he's gonna know that _we_ know. He'll have no choice but to talk.

Azumane sits up sharply at that.

"No," he growls, firmly, and Kuroo nearly flinches at the aura of enmity that suddenly comes from him. "We're _not_ forcing him to talk. We might know what happened now, but that doesn't give us the right to coerce him into speaking."

Ashamed, Kuroo looks down at his hands, and Azumane's fierce expression softens.

"Okay, then we're going to tell Ukai and Takeda-sensei," Sawamura says. "We _have_ to tell the adults _._ It's the right thing to do."

As students — as _kids_ — there's little they can actually do. With adults or the authorities involved, they're able to help Tsukishima in ways Kuroo and the others can't. It takes a few seconds before everyone nods, a silent agreement.

They all know Tsukishima isn't going to be okay with this. The way he reacted with Kuroo yesterday was evidence enough. They have to remind themselves that they're doing this to help, and that's purely the only reason. It's a moral grey-area, and Tsukishima may hate them afterwards, but there's nothing else they can do.

Tensely, Sawamura pushes himself to his feet. "You guys," he says, referring to Shimizu, Azumane, and Sugawara, "should head back to the gym. Kuroo-san and I are going to go tell the coaches."

"Why don't we all go?" Sugawara suggests, frowning.

"No, it should be Sawamura and I," Kuroo agrees. He stands up as well. "We were the first ones Tsukishima talked to. And too many people might make him nervous."

Nobody can find it in themselves to argue. Silently, the other three stand. Shimizu gently holds Azumane's arm, Sugawara standing on Azumane's other side, and the trio walk off towards the gym.

"Let's head back to the infirmary," Kuroo says, watching them head off, and Sawamura just nods. 

* * *

Tsukishima pushes himself up on the bed, slightly dazed and confused.

For once, he didn't have a nightmare, and that was as scary as it was relieving. But he _does_ have a raging headache, sleep is still threatening to pull him back under, and on top of that, his stomach is growling like there's no tomorrow. He places his face in his hands, groaning quietly. The daunting practice in the afternoon is looming over his head, a reminder that he's going to have to suck it up for just a little longer.

"Tsukishima?"

He doesn't flinch, but he almost does. Slowly, his face lifts from his hands, and Takeda-sensei is there, sitting on a chair beside the bed. 

The bed?

He blinks a few times, adjusting to the bright ceiling lights overhead. He sees the medical posters across the walls, the bland curtain that is slightly pulled out on one side of his bed.

Oh.

_Oh._

He's in the infirmary.

The realization shocks him into silence, too many thoughts and questions running through his head, too much to process. He was in the gym before — on the court, in the middle of a practice match, when all of a sudden he felt he couldn't stand any longer — and now he was in the infirmary. And Kuroo was there, too, but right now he's nowhere to be seen. 

Takeda-sensei smiles at him, tender and sweet (almost disgustingly so). "Tsukishima, how are you feeling?"

"Fine," he says instantly, and the teacher's smile grows strained.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I passed out during a match."

"Do you remember anything after that?"

"I believe . . . Kuroo-san and Shimizu were with me when I was taken here? I remember hearing them speaking."

"And?"

"And, uh, it won't happen again?" Tsukishima flounders, not quite knowing what was being asked of him to say. "Next time, I'll make sure to switch out if I'm feeling unwell."

Takeda-sensei shakes his head, and Tsukishima pulls the blanket closer, suddenly feeling cold. He scans the room again, and this time he spots Coach Ukai and Kuroo standing near the door. The older man's arms are crossed, expression twisted. Kuroo is looking anywhere and everywhere but at him, and his phone is gripped tightly in his hand.

His stomach sinks. 

And it's silly, because there are tons of reasonable explanations as to why Kuroo may be holding his phone right now, but all Tsukishima can think about are those photos — those shameful, disgusting pictures were sent to Kuroo, and that Tsukishima asked him to delete.

He never knew for sure if the older boy really did get rid of those photos.

Heart racing, he lifts his head. Kuroo catches his eye, and Tsukishima can see the guilt that paints his face.

"You didn't," he says, some foolish part of him still wanting to believe it wasn't true.

He searches Kuroo's face, seeking the answer that he wants to find. Instead, the older boy doesn't respond, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

That's the final straw.

"You _told_ them?!" he shouts, incredulous, and his volume surprises even himself. Takeda-sensei is standing closer, mouth moving, but Tsukishima can't hear him. His focus is only on Kuroo, who is still silent.

"Why would you do that?!" he cries, trying to get him to talk. "That's — that's — I told you to delete them! But instead you just . . . kept them?!"

Kuroo shakes his head. His mouth is agape, but no words are flowing out.

"Are you a pervert?" he sneers, and that's what gets Kuroo to look at him. "Let me guess, you kept those photos because they turned you on?"

"That's not — " Kuroo stutters out, but Tsukishima beats him to it.

"Like I said, you kept those photos because they excited you," he says. 

"Tsukki, of course I didn't keep them because of that!" Coach Ukai grabs Kuroo as he takes a step forward, stopping him from going any further. "For me, I kept them because I was worried, and I thought they would come in handy later!"

"I already told you, those photos didn't _mean_ anything," Tsukishima snaps.

Kuroo opens his mouth again, then closes it. It happens a few more times, before he finally slumps, and Coach Ukai slowly releases his hold on him.

"I'm not gonna argue with you, Tsukki," the older boy says slowly. "You weren't letting me _help._ I couldn't be there for you, when clearly something was wrong! I had no other choice — "

"That wasn't your decision to make!" Tsukishima cries out. His voice cracks. "That's not — you didn't even — _now they all know!"_

Kuroo's eyes widen.

"I didn't _want_ them to!" Tsukishima goes on. "I didn't want _anyone_ to know!"

The infirmary is quiet. He didn't even realize Takeda-sensei was wrapping his arms around him until he was pressed against the teacher's shoulder, a gentle hand brushing through his hair, the other one resting on his back.

A few seconds pass before he leans into the embrace. A few more until he starts shaking violently, unable to quell the quiet sobs that bubble out of his chest. He's just so _done_ with everything; fuck Kuroo, fuck volleyball, fuck the world; he bows his head against Takeda-sensei's shoulder and cries. He feels the teacher tense a bit, before falling back into his previous rhythm of gentle soothing and quiet reassurances in his ear.

The anger fades, overwhelmed by the helplessness, the urge to flee, the need to just curl into himself until he disappears. Every bad thing that he envisioned is happening, and it's tearing at his soul, gnawing at it until he's struggling to remember his own name.

"You shouldn't have told them," he croaks, words muffled against Takeda-sensei's jacket. He doesn't check to see if Kuroo heard it.

* * *

Tsukishima isn't even wearing his _shirt._

When he pulls away from Takeda-sensei, the blanket so closely wrapped around himself slips off, and he looks down at himself, wondering why he was so cold. He's greeted with the sight of his chest and stomach, mapped out with bruises that spread across the expanse of skin. It throws him off for a moment, because he was wearing a shirt, wasn't he? But that significant article of clothing is in a crumpled mess on the table next to the bed. Not on him.

He grips the blanket and pulls it back up, even though it was futile; everyone's already seen it. His knuckles are turning white from the amount of force he's gripping the blanket with.

 _This is it,_ something tells him. _Everything you were trying to keep hidden. It was all for nothing._

This is how it ends. He's going to drop dead right now, from sheer horror, disgust, and shame. They'll ask about the bruises and about the other marks, prying deeper and deeper until they discover the other vile injuries that don't come in the form of blackening marks on his skin.

"Tsukishima?" Takeda-sensei calls out softly.

His head lifts, eyes glassy and dead no doubt.

"How are you feeling?" the teacher asks, quiet even within the silence of the infirmary.

He shrugs.

Takeda-sensei smiles, sorrowfully. "Are you comfortable with talking to someone about this?"

"Do I have a choice at this point?"

"Of course you do," the teacher immediately says, surprisingly quick. "You always have a choice. There are a ton of ways to go about the recovery process. I don't know all of them, but there must be one that'll be comfortable for you."

So kind, that he almost doesn't know what to say. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Takeda-sensei says, and while the worse it could be is false hope, Tsukishima wants to throw himself into it anyway. "There are some people here that want to talk to you, actually. It's — it'll be difficult, and if you aren't ready to speak yet, then you don't have to. If you want, we can stay in here for the whole thing."

They called the police (or the ambulance, one of the two). Tsukishima sits up a little straighter, leaning forward to rub at his eyes with his hands, wiping away the tears before they can fall. Everything seems so surreal; he doesn't know what to do, so he just nods, hopes that going with the flow will bring him some sense of reality.

"Is that a yes?" Takeda-sensei asks. "Are okay with talking to them now?"

"Whatever," Tsukishima murmurs. "Oh, uh, and — sensei? Would you mind staying?"

The teacher nods. He glances back at Coach Ukai, who is still lingering near the door, and the younger man takes that as his signal to leave.

As the teacher gets up, presumably to get a drink or something, Tsukishima looks out the infirmary door just as Coach Ukai was leaving. Kuroo is outside, standing against the adjacent wall. Tsukishima didn't even realize he wasn't in the room.

They make eye contact. Kuroo appears older than he should be; the lines under his eyes, the signature curve of his hair obscuring his right eye from view, the bloodshot and sunken eyes, glassy and unblinking, all contribute to someone who's seen too many things. Tsukishima's heart breaks a little at that; _he_ was the one who caused Kuroo to look like that, to _feel_ like that — whatever negative emotions that are coursing through him right now.

And yet Kuroo stares at him, then smiles.

Before Tsukishima could even manage to return the gesture, a man and woman in suits suddenly walk into the room and shut the door behind them. Just like that, they're separated, and he can't ask what that smile meant.

Tsukishima swings one arm across his face, over his eyes. He tries not to let the intimidating presence of these people send him breaking down. _~~But they're really tall, they're probably strong too, they could hold you down easily.~~ _

The woman speaks up first. She's soft-spoken, voice calm and soothing as she introduces herself and her partner. She moves slow, makes her movement predictable and visible to him. She says all the right things — _"We understand,"_ and _"Would it be okay?"_ and gentle reminders about an ambulance and the hospital — and he slowly realizes she's done this before.

She's saying something again, but Tsukishima can't find the strength to open his mouth. He feels like he's watching this from an outsider's perspective; he watches himself toy with the blanket, watches the moment his mind goes blank, like this was all happening to someone else instead. It _could_ be happening to someone else; he could be dreaming, for all he knows. His mind decided to spare him this one time — instead of plaguing his sleep with nightmares and horrid memories, it graciously offered him a fantasy of a world where he no longer needed to hide.

Takeda-sensei places his hand on top of Tsukishima's, and he gradually tunes back into reality. The woman is saying something again, and it isn't until she says, _"other victims,"_ that he fully turns his attention to her.

"I'm sorry," he says, accidentally interrupting her mid-speech, "can you say that again?"

She flounders, but swiftly recovers. "From what know, we believe that this was the work of two men who have been doing this for a while. Currently, we're building a case against them. Other victims, such as yourself, have already stepped forward."

"Really?" he can't help but ask, and she nods.

He doesn't know whether or not to be relieved or horrified; relieved that he wasn't alone, that there was other people who shared his pain and actually understood, and horrified that those men attacked others too, that he wasn't the only one.

He doesn't realize he's shaking until Takeda-sensei squeezes his hand lightly.

"Listen, son," someone says, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's the woman's male companion. "You must be tired after all of this. For now, we're going to get you to the hospital and call your parents. We'll finish with our questions another time."

He nods, feeling numb.

"You're going to be alright now," the man goes on, and the understanding expression that graces his face is almost too much. "You're safe now."

Tsukishima covers his face with his free hand. He's crying for some reason, harsh sobs so strong that they shake his whole body every time. But they aren't tears of submission; they're tears to push him forward.

Right now, he's too relieved to be embarrassed. He might be later on, when he looks back on this moment, reminiscing, wondering how he's kept it all in for so long. But at this instant, the weight on his shoulders his gone, and his heart is free.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: do NOT do what kuroo did. if you are ever in a similar situation, just remember it is NOT your fucking place to be showing other people such photos, or telling them about someone else's trauma UNLESS IT'S ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY (like it was in the story). like tsukishima said, that's not your decision to make. 
> 
> obviously this is a story, and kuroo is a reckless and gung-ho person so he kind of jumps the gun, but that does not mean you should follow his example. this is just to get the story moving along quicker.
> 
> if anything, showing other people such photos and talking about their trauma before asking with the victim about it beforehand — that's going to fucking destroy them. talk to them first, convince them to seek help. they should always have a choice; they should always have a say in the matter.
> 
> sorry for, uh, ranting. it's a serious subject matter and it's just important to stress that there are certain things you should and shouldn't do. 
> 
> extra notes:  
> \- everyone might be ooc. they probably are. oh well. but really who wouldn't freak the fuck out if something like that happened to you.
> 
> \- angst. also rushed.
> 
> \- half of the shit tsukishima was saying was because he was angry. that's not how he sees Kuroo. but in that situation, he was just scared and confused and his defences was sarcasm and insults.
> 
> \- on a side note how tf is takeda in his thirties and ukai in his twenties. the fuckin anime is catfishing us y'all.
> 
> \- cheesy police talk. law & order has not helped with writing these kinds of scenes in the slightest.
> 
> \- forcing someone to talk to the police is kind of an iffy subject. it's like, a moral grey area. talk to the victim first and get their consent before you go ahead and do something like that.
> 
> \- last chapter is the last one, clearly.


	10. The Calm After the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extra notes before the chapter starts:
> 
> \- long (it was meant to be shorter, but then it sorted got carried away).
> 
> \- kuroo and tsukishima talk shit out. y'know, like how mature people usually do. kuroo is funny and upbeat and all that stuff, so this chapter tried not to make him seem like an asshole and too serious.
> 
> \- epilogue at the end.

* * *

The whole process is a blur. The ride to the hospital, the nurses and doctors and paramedics overlooking him, bandages and ice packs for things that are already almost healed, the rape kit — all of it passes over his head. He doesn't remember most of it. He decides that's a good thing.

He blinks, and he's in a hospital room. There's nobody else there, just him and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Gone is the lightness in his heart, the sudden weight off his shoulders. The euphoria, the intoxicating haze that overwhelmed him in the infirmary room. He was so fucking happy then, but now he just feels miserable again. That elation seems like a dream, a memory from another world.

He leans back against the pillow.

He thinks.

He thinks about his mother, about his teammates, about Nekoma. He wonders what they must've thought when the ambulance rolled in and dragged him inside (a little over the top, if you ask him). He imagines they must be confused, although some may have already known. 

His thoughts stray to his mother — his mother, always so gentle and kind and willing to bend back for others before herself. Maybe she'll blame herself for this, as parents always do, and she'll debate and fight herself, tormented by _what ifs_ like he is.

 _Or maybe she'll hate you instead,_ the voice says, and he can't help but agree with that, too.

He feels the anxiety growing in his chest. Some small, insignificant part of him actually wants his mother to get mad, to yell at him. Because that's easier to handle than feigned happiness and smiles, unseen pity and disgust. It was nice sometimes, when people cared about him, but it also felt like a bat being swung against his head.

"I hate this," he mutters to himself. Outside the window, the sun is beginning to set. The light rain pattering against the glass is rhythmical, and he tries to slow his heartbeat down to match it.

"What do you hate?" 

He doesn't jump (he does, but he'll vehemently deny it if anyone asks). He whips his head around, and Kuroo is there, standing a few feet from the bed. He didn't even hear the older boy come in.

Kuroo looks tired.

His eyes are puffy and red, like he was crying mere moments ago and cleaned his face with a few swipes of his sleeve.

Tsukishima offers an empty smile.

"Hello," he says.

"Hi," Kuroo says back. He gestures to one of the cheap hospital chairs near the bed. "Can I sit?"

Tsukishima shrugs, indifferent, and Kuroo takes a seat.

"So, uh, how are you feeling?" the older boy asks.

Such an unoriginal, platitudinous question, Tsukishima muses to himself. "Fine," he answers anyway, because the word was already on the tip of his tongue the moment Kuroo opened his mouth.

"No, for real," the other boy says. "Is everything okay?"

"What do _you_ think?" Tsukishima shoots back, humourlessly. "Is that all you came in here to ask?"

He thinks Kuroo looks pretty — the light from the window that shines on his face, accentuating the tired lines under his eyes and also the soft upturn of his lips, a smile that's scarcely there. Tsukishima expects anger and harsh words to get rid of that grin, insults that tear themselves deep into his skin, or normal banter to distract them from what needs to be said.

Instead, Kuroo tilts his head to the side, the sunlight emphasizing the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and says, "I thought I'd apologize for what happened."

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow, impassive.

"Y'know, for telling your coaches about what happened," Kuroo goes on. "That wasn't cool of me, and it must've really sucked for you. So, I wanted to say sorry."

 _Understatement of the year,_ Tsukishima thinks. He's pleasantly surprised that the other boy even took the time to say all that in the first place, thought (or maybe _pleasant_ isn't the right word). He's not used to someone older than him apologizing. Usually, it's the other way around; the underclassman is the one in the wrong. Apologies are always awkward, no matter the situation, but this one takes the cake.

"It's . . . fine," he mutters, and even he can sense the uncertainty behind the words. "You were, uh — I know you had good intentions when you told them. Or something like that."

Kuroo waits.

"But you're an asshole for doing that without telling me first," Tsukishima adds, angrily.

Kuroo tenses up. But he doesn't look shocked — like he expected Tsukishima to be enraged, and that only serves to fuel Tsukishima's anger even more.

"Seriously, what were you thinking?" he snarls. "You had _no_ right. It wasn't your place to tell other people. When you did that, it — I felt like I was dying."

Kuroo's eyes drop down to his lap.

"Do you have any idea what that feels like?" Tsukishima keeps going. "I was already scared. This whole _time,_ I was scared, and that fear _hurt._ And then when I figured out you showed those photos — it felt like everything was over."

"I didn't show them," Kuroo says, and Tsukishima pauses.

"What?"

"I just, uh, described it to them, I guess?" the other boy rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. "I thought for sure you'd be angry with me no matter what, so that's why — if it was only absolutely necessary, that's the only time I would show them."

"So, nobody else saw those pictures?"

Kuroo shakes his head, and the rain dissipates just a little.

"Can you delete them this time?"

Kuroo looks taken back at the request. "W — hold on, Tsukki, maybe that's a bad idea. It's not — what I mean is, wouldn't this be useful for the police? They're doing an investigation, right?"

"I have them on my phone, too, so it's fine," Tsukishima blurts out. He winces. "Sorry. I . . . I just couldn't bring myself to delete them. I don't know why."

He expects Kuroo to be disgusted, because really, who keeps the pictures of their own assault on their phone?

But instead, Kuroo leans forward, tilting his own device so that Tsukishima can see it, and the Tsukishima has a front row seat as the other boy deletes the photos right then and there.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Does it really matter?" Tsukishima shoots back, snide, but he gratefully accepts the glass of water Kuroo hands him. "They all know now."

"Did you think it was something you couldn't tell us?" Kuroo goes on, only a little amused at his attitude.

Tsukishima gives up, shrugging. "I didn't want anyone to know, if that's not so impossible for you to believe. I just wanted things to go back to how they were before it, uh, happened. I just wanted everyone to leave me alone.

"Well, I couldn't just do that, y'know?" Kuroo says, chuckling. "None of us could. Besides, it was easier to see that something was up. You were acting weird, so naturally we'd be worried."

"Guess I shouldn't become an actor after high school."

"Yeah, you'd probably fight with the other actors in every scene."

They both laugh, a bright moment that's short-lived.

And then Kuroo says, "I'm sorry."

Tsukishima narrows his eyes, frowning.

"Why?" he asks, throat suddenly dry. "You already said you were sorry when you walked it."

"Whaddaya mean, 'why?' " Kuroo echoes. "I'm saying sorry because I couldn't be there for you. Even back then, when we were face to face, there was nothing I could do. I couldn't find a way to help you."

"You — you don't have to apologize for that," Tsukishima forces out. "You're right; there _was_ nothing you could do. This is all my fault, anyway, so — "

"Tsukki, _please_ don't think like that," Kuroo cuts in. "What've _you_ got to be sorry for? None of this is your fault."

Damn it all, Tsukishima's crying again. He can sense it before it happens — the tears building up in his eyes and blurring his vision, the flush that spread's across his face, the sensation of sobs building up in his chest, even before he jerks forward, clenching his teeth, trying to suppress them.

"Wait — Tsukki, are you crying?!" Kuroo says, face lighting up in panic, and Tsukishima rips off his glasses and covers the top half of his face with his other hand.

"Shut up," he mutters, but it comes out unsteady, warped by the effort of keeping his cries quiet. " 'm not crying."

Kuroo stands up, moving with hesitant steps until he's sitting on the hospital bed. He's sitting near the end of the bed, awkwardly far from where Tsukishima's face is.

"I just — " he bites back another cry, willing himself to be calm, willing the hiccups in bubbling in his chest to suppress themselves. "I thought you guys would hate me."

"Why would we hate you?" Kuroo asks. "If anything, we're suuuper angry that you got hurt."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, we were kinda taken aback at first," he says, and swiftly backtracks when Tsukishima's expression twists up, "but we were more concerned that you were attacked than hating you and stuff."

"Liar," Tsukishima huffs.

Kuroo grins. "It's true."

Tsukishima breathes in deeply. Slowly, the hiccups subside, the sobs settle down, and he doesn't have to continuously wipe his eyes. His nose is still a bit runny, pale skin around his face most likely flushed, but he's calmed down considerably.

"Feeling better?" Kuroo asks.

"I'd feel better if I had another glass of water," he replies, waving around his empty glass. Kuroo chuckles at that, plucks the cup out of his hand, and places it on the table beside the bed. "Where's my water?"

"I'll get it, I'll get it," Kuroo waves him off.

Then he does something Tsukishima doesn't expect him to; he blushes.

"Can I, uh, touch you?"

Tsukishima winces at the choice of words. "In what way?"

"Wait, no, that sounded wrong," Kuroo quickly says, frowning. "I meant, uh, I'd like to hold your hand. I just didn't want to proceed without your consent, because I am a gentleman."

"Right," Tsukishima scoffs, the faintest hint of a smile growing on his face. "You, a gentleman?"

Kuroo doesn't respond to that other than a quirk of his eyebrow. Instead, he inches closer, until the awkward space between them closes up and they're both in each other's reach. Slowly, he slips his hand into Tsukishima's. The older boy squeezes lightly, careful to avoid Tsukishima's wrist, which was no longer the prominent purple bruise as it was days before.

"Tsukki, I already said this, but we could never hate you," Kuroo whispers, looking at their intertwined hands, oddly quiet. "None of this was your fault. All we want is for you to get better."

Tsukishima finds himself nodding, and for once, it doesn't feel forced. He doesn't say it out loud, but they both know he's grateful.

Kuroo looks back up at him. "Wou — would you mind if I kissed you?" 

"No," Tsukishima says immediately.

Kuroo looks hurt, but understanding at the same time.

"That's fine," the older boy says, then laughs. "I don't even know why I asked you that."

"I mean, a hug would be okay," Tsukishima mutters, pushing back the embarrassment that threatens to consume him whole, and Kuroo lights up like a kid on Christmas Day.

The other boy leans forward, wrapping his arms around Tsukishima and pulling him closer until the younger boy was pressed against his shoulder. His grip is light, mindful of the lingering bruises. He's _warm._ Tsukishima finds himself subconsciously leaning into the embrace.

There's a small knock on the door. Startled, they pull away from one another, and the moment is gone. Tsukishima is left flushing, heart pounding erratically in his chest.

When he looks over towards the door, he finds his mother standing there. She has concern written all over her face, in the deep lines of her forehead and the skin that creases when she narrows her eyes, in the way she presses her mouth into a thin line.

Kuroo moves to get to his feet, but one hand lingers on Tsukishima's arm. "I'll see you in a few," he says, looking reluctant to go. Tsukishima grabs the other boy's hand and squeezes it gently, and Kuroo all but melts into the touch. All too soon, it's over, and Kuroo leaves. The older boy nods once to Tsukishima's mother as he walks out the room, and now it's just them two.

As soon as the door shuts behind Kuroo, she runs to her son and wraps him in her arms. She's shaking so badly, and Tsukishima pushes away the guilt clawing at his throat, because couldn't be feeling like that right now. He could break down later, but right now he had to comfort his mother.

He's never been the best at comforting people (he's usually the reason people are crying in the first place). So he clumsily copies Takeda-sensei: he brushes a hand through her hair, gently petting her, and rests the other one on her back. He reassures her, whispering generic phrases of comfort that people have heard so many times before, but it gets the job done. Soon enough, the shaking subsides, and she slowly pulls back.

"Kei, I'm sorry," she says.

Tsukishima jerks back, startled.

"Why — why are you apologizing?" he asks.

"I couldn't protect you," she says. "I'm your _mother._ It's my _job_ to keep you safe."

Tsukishima would assume that she was angry, but the tears in her eyes and her heartbroken expression beg to differ.

“I’m okay," he tells her, another poor attempt at reassurance, but it does the opposite of what he intended it to. "It's . . . I didn't even tell you."

"You shouldn't _have_ to tell me," his mother says, fiercely, even when she's breaking down. "I should've seen it. I shouldn't known."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," she says. She takes his face in her hands, presses her forehead against his. "I'm so sorry you had to do all of this alone."

Despite himself, he's starting to cry again. This time, it's his mother's turn to comfort him, to soothe him and offer gentle reassurances and to secure the foundation of his world as it feels like it's crumbling around him. 

But for the first time in a while, he thinks that things are going to get better.

* * *

* * *

* * *

"Okay, so, in today's class the formula was kinda confusing, so I'm not sure if I can — "

"I already finished today's homework."

"Wha — really? Amazing, Tsukki! Even Hinata couldn't figure it out that quick, and he was there during the lesson!"

"I take offence to you comparing me with that shrimp."

"Who knows, with all the days of school you missed, you guys might be on the same level now — "

"Shut up, Yamaguchi."

Yamaguchi laughs, a bright and happy sound that carries through the phone perfectly. "Sorry, Tsukki."

Tsukishima flips through the school textbook on his lap. For the past three weeks since he was released from the hospital, he wasn't permitted to return to school (much to his annoyance) even though all the bruises and most of the cuts have healed. So Yamaguchi insisted on relaying all the homework and lessons from their classes so that when he eventually returned, he wouldn't be left behind.

"Okay, next on the list," Yamaguchi mutters through the phone, "is English literature. I told you the book we were reading last week, right?"

"I already finished the book," Tsukishima replies, grinning as Yamaguchi sputters out more praise.

"You might as well not come to school anymore," the younger boy says. "If you can do all the work at home and still be ahead, then there's no point."

"You'd be lonely," Tsukishima points out.

Yamaguchi hums. "That's true. Besides, Hinata and Kageyama wouldn't make good bodyguards."

"Oh, so I'm just your bodyguard now?" Tsukishima asks, sarcastically. "If that's the case, then I might not come back until next week. Just to see what happens."

"I'm joking!" Yamaguchi rushes to say. "Sorry, Tsukki!"

Tomorrow is his first day back to school, and for some reason, he can't help but feel excited at the thought. Tomorrow, things would be normal; he'd be back in his boring classes, surrounded by his annoying classmates, and back to playing volleyball after school with his annoying teammates.

"Oh, Yamaguchi, I'm getting another call," Tsukishima says as his phone buzzes, screen lighting up as another caller id pops up. "I'll call you back."

"Got it! Talk to you later, Tsukki!"

Tsukishima ends the phone call and rushes to answer the next one.

"Could you pick a worst time to call?"

"On a scale of one to ten, how likely would it be for you to move to Tokyo — "

Tsukishima moves to end the call.

"Hey!" Kuroo whines, his voice still ringing out loudly despite the device not being on speaker. "Wait, don't hang up!"

"Next time, stick to what we agreed on," Tsukishima says. "I thought you weren't gonna call until later."

"I was, but I couldn't wait to hear your voice." Kuroo's grin is contagious, even over a phone call, and Tsukishima can't help the way his mouth twitches up, threatening to split into a wide smile. 

"That's stupid," he says, trying to keep his signature bored tone.

"You like me anyway."

". . ."

"Noo, I told you not to hang up!"

"If you don't need anything, then I'm going to," Tsukishima says. His finger isn't even hovering above the 'end call' button, much less lifted from the book he has in his lap.

"Noo, I just wanna talk," Kuroo whines. "Just for a little bit longer. Okay?"

Tsukishima shrugs, a gesture that's lost across the phone call, and flips another page of his book.

"So, are you ready to go back to school?" Kuroo asks. "You're going back tomorrow, right?"

Tsukishima nods. "I guess," he says — like an afterthought — when he remembers the other boy can't see him. "I'm only going back for Yamaguchi."

"Ouch, and here I thought you were actually excited to see your whole team," Kuroo teases.

"I can only handle the third-years," Tsukishima jokes. "Nishinoya-san and Tanaka-san are less bearable than the other second-years, and Yamaguchi is fine."

"What about those other two first years?"

"Who?"

Kuroo laughs, and Tsukishima falls in step behind him with a quiet chuckle of his own.

"So, how are you feeling?" Kuroo asks.

"Fine," Tsukishima mutters, but he knows what the other boy wants to hear. "I have my first session with Dr. Maruki tomorrow after school, since you want to so that badly."

"Ah, Tsukki figured me out so easily," Kuroo hums. "But I'm glad. You prepared for it?"

Tsukishima grunts. "I'd rather listen to the King ordering me around than someone trying to get into my head."

"Hey, it'll be good for you," Kuroo points out. "You know that, right?"

Tsukishima scoffs. "Of course I know that."

"Annnd you also know that we're here for you, right?"

Tsukishima doesn't answer to that, suddenly occupied with trying to fight the embarrassed flush that stretches across his cheeks. He can't help but think back to these past few weeks — the numerous visits from his teammates as well as Kuroo, Akaashi, and Bokuto (surprisingly), the small gifts every now and then, and the huge surprise on the day he was finally discharged. He was a little annoyed that they were making it such a big deal, sure, but deep down, he was grateful; he felt loved. It was almost enough to distract him from everything that happened.

"Tsukki~?"

"I heard you," Tsukishima mutters, voice dropping low in embarrassment. "You guys don't have to coddle me."

"Well, I like you, so I'll coddle you as much as I want," Kuroo replies cheekily. "You know you like me, too."

"Sure," Tsukishima says. "Whatever you say."

"Do you mean it?"

"Probably."

"Tsukki," Kuroo whines, "say it back."

"I'm gonna hang up now," Tsukishima says, smirking. "I have a book thesis to start writing."

"Fine, fine, you don't have to say it," Kuroo pouts. "I'll call you tomorrow then, 'kay? Bye bye~!"

Tsukishima makes a noise of confirmation, then swallows. "About that Tokyo thing? Who knows, I might move there after high school."

Kuroo shouts something incomprehensible, and Tsukishima ends the call before the other boy can properly respond.

He feels like a kid as he tosses his phone onto his bed, heart fluttering. He returns to his book, trying to distract himself.

He pushes away that small sliver of guilt that still clings to his chest. He doesn't know where it comes from, or why it's still there, but it's there regardless of what he thinks of it. He knows not to pay any mind to it, so he doesn't, and reaches over for his notebook and a pen.

He's not fully better, not at all, even though he's feeling so fucking happy right now. In all honesty, he's not even sure if there's such thing as a 'full recovery.' He's not sure if the memory and the pain will fully go away, or ever. But he's started on the path of healing. And while he might never get better, the future is looking less bleak.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is still sort of a kuroo/tsukishima story. just because it doesn't explicitly state that they're dating and shit, doesn't mean they aren't. if anything, tsukishima shouldn't even be ready for a relationship that soon. however, it doesn't mean the two of them can't get together, later down the road. recovery is one hell of a process, and you can't get magically better in just a few weeks.
> 
> it's okay to not be ready for a relationship. take as long as you need to heal. you're not obligated to date someone just because they were there for you in your darkest times. eventually, once tsukishima is ready for a real relationship, he and kuroo will talk.
> 
> this was gonna leave of an a bittersweet note, because that's how reality usually is, but happy endings are fucking amazing and better. happy endings give hope to people. maybe if you're reading something and you're down, happy endings have a way of showing people a brighter future, a path that they might not've seen because they thought they couldn't obtain happiness themselves, when in reality, you can obtain that happiness.  
> 
> 
> thanks for reading. feedback and criticism is welcomed.
> 
> extra notes:  
> \- might be ooc again. fuck it.
> 
> \- mood swings are real. they 100% suck.
> 
> \- conversation and talking shit out is always the first thing you do. communication is key, and as cliché as that sounds, it's true.
> 
> \- bitchy tsukishima that orders kuroo around? noice.
> 
> \- the hug is kinda iffy. someone probably wouldn't be comfortable with a hug that soon, but who knows. people differ.
> 
> \- the last part (which is like the epilogue) doesn't mention the police investigation and stuff. just think what you want to happen for that part.
> 
> \- your comments are all amazing. I'd respond to them, but I'm a shy bastard so I couldn't muster up the courage to haha. apologies if this was too graphic for you, but thank you for sticking around these past few weeks. thank you all for reading :)


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